


Shadows and Light II

by Kitzzo



Series: Shadows and Light [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-19 11:22:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 31,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29998608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitzzo/pseuds/Kitzzo
Summary: Hybern has been defeated, and in the fragile peace following the King's fall, the new Spymistress works alongside her found family to ensure that it lasts. While the future holds the promise of happiness, the road there is laced with rifts one must bridge to cross. But at least she won't walk it alone.This is part 2 to my story "Shadows and Light", and to understand this one you need to read that before delving into this.
Relationships: Azriel (ACoTaR)/Original Character(s), Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Series: Shadows and Light [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2198928
Comments: 22
Kudos: 60





	1. Eyes on the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are. I decided to postpone posting this until I'd finished reading acosf, mainly because I realized there's a lot of Azriel content in the book, which meant I could get more insight into his character, even if his development will change course to an extent because of my changes. How I plan to tackle acosf is still up in the air, but I'll cross that bridge when we get there.

The scribbling of my pen against paper is the only sound within the office, the pulsing headache the only sign that I’ve been doing this for far too long and should probably stop and get some rest. But Rhys needs his report by lunchtime, and I need to finish it before then.

It’s been a month since the war ended, four weeks where I’ve worked alongside Azriel to ensure this peace lasts. It's been nice, but exhausting. I keep a close eye on the lands bordering where the wall once stood, making sure no Fae territories get any funny ideas while Azriel continues to try and get his—our, I suppose—spies into the Mortal Queens' shared palace—where they remain gathered—but so far he has remained unsuccessful.

I’ve spent many hours in his arms at night, listening to his frustration and giving whatever advise I can offer, but no amount of condolence can get rid of the fact that they’re scheming in there, and we don’t have a clue what that scheming entails.

Rhys has stated that it isn’t an immediate issue. Making sure Prythian recovers is the main focus for us all, but we still keep an eye on things.

Vallahan, Montesere and Rask are still mostly too busy dealing with their internal conflicts—the ones we planted in there to distract them—but I keep a close eye on the wall's old border all the same, noting down what I can regarding Fae movements across it, and Human crossings.

There’s little of the latter, but the fact that the former occurs is frightening, but so far I haven’t witnessed any killings, just curious observations done by young faeries who’ve never seen humans before.

But curiosity can grow into something vile, and my job is to keep tabs in that development.

The door clicks open without a knock, and to no surprise of mine, Azriel slips inside, a tray of lunch in his hands.

He can never be sneaky around me, he knows that. I'm surprised he even bothered with the door, honestly, instead of just shifting inside.

“Going well?” He asks as he sits down on the chair opposite of me, placing the tray on the free space before my unfinished document.

“I’m just about to wrap it up” I state calmly, neatly scribbling down the last few paragraphs.

“Can I see?” He asks once I sit back and give my work a slow assessment, working out whether I’ve missed any details. Then I lift the bit of parchment and hand it to him, nodding softly.

He leans back in his chair, his face shifting into that calculating calm as he reads, and I tug the tray to me, stabbing my acquired fork into today’s offering.

I’ve yet to give him my own, but we’re getting there.

There’s just so much to do, and neither of us want to spend the frenzy in a hurry due to the uncertainties of the world. We’re in no rush anyways, we… We’ve been exploring ways to sate the bond's urges in other ways, if it’s gotten too bad.

It’s been fun. Exciting and new, but most importantly fun.

Granted we haven’t done much, but it’s something. Steps in the right direction.

As I’m digging into my lunch, surprised by how hungry I actually am—then recall how I skipped breakfast and no longer feel surprised—Azriel lays my report down on the desk, his eyes shifting to me.

I raise a brow in silent question.

“So everything’s calm” He states in form of inquiry, and I nod, working to down my most recent bite.

“For now” I state once I’ve flushed it down with some water. “But keeping the Fae territories on the continent busy with themselves isn’t going to last” Azriel sighs, his hand reaching to his brow, massaging a surfacing ache.

“I know, but it’s postponing all-out slaughter, at least” I hum my agreement and keep eating.

I know better than to push Azriel to eat as well, his plate untouched still, but he gets to it on his own eventually, his eyes studying me as I work to eat my fill.

“You haven’t overworked yourself, have you?” I smile, his concern as sweet as always.

Ever since he found me bleeding my brains out after a long session a couple weeks back, he’s been a little iffy when it comes to letting me stay out there for long, especially without him present, but he in no way restricts me form doing my work. He just asks that question a lot whenever he seems me looking more worn out than usual.

“I’m fine, just a little tired” I assure him, which seems to ease his mind just enough.

“I hope you’re not too tired for this afternoon” He states, continuing to dig into his meal.

“I’m not more tired than you are, stop fuzzing” Because his own dark circles run deep these days, like ever present shadows beneath his eyes.

I know why they’re there, know why he wakes up in a fright at night and holds me tight until dawn arrives, know he has nightmares, sees versions of the living where I die on that field and leave him behind. He told me about them the firs few nights when I asked, but now I only hold him through it, brushing a soothing hand through his hair as I assure him that I’m here, that we’re alive.

That this is real and the alternative is only a nightmare. One that will never be real.

“Fine, alright” He stretches his neck and shoulders and reaches for a pile of papers on the desk, giving them a look. “Rhys expects his report in about half an hour, and the first house expects us not long after”

A house, it still feels surreal.

We agreed around a week ago to get out of the House and find something of our own, our intent to find a place for ourselves where we can actually, comfortably, go through with the mating frenzy.

The thought of a home with Azriel and Azriel alone makes me feel all warm and good inside. The thought of crafting that home with him is like a dream come true. A dream I’ve never dared to voice or think prior to meeting him.

“I really like the houses along the Sidra, aesthetically” I state, granting me a nod from my dear mate. “But it feels too… Central, you know? Too close to the crowds”

“We could always remodel a house in the outskirts to our wishes, we have the funds” Now that I formally work for Rhys, I’ve been given a substantial raise—landing me on equal wage with my mate because Rhys values financial equality—and along with the money Drakon sent over from my old accounts on Cretea, he’s right about us having the funds to do it.

“True… If we do, I’d like it to be somewhere high, with a balcony we can look out cross the city from” Azriel smiles.

“That sounds lovely”

“And a garden Elain can help tend to, if she wants” His smile broadens.

“I’m sure she’d love that”

Our young friend has made it her purpose to breathe life into the most grand of gardens all across Velaris, with the help of a small team of other faeries. It’s relieving to see her with a purpose and direction in life, to see her adapting and coming to terms with the life she’s been thrown into.

I don’t doubt she misses her old life, but she’s living this one too, as freely as she can.

“I think I know which house would fit that vision, what plot of land” Azriel begins, his face thoughtful. “But the house itself isn’t perfect. We might be better off tearing it down and starting from scratch, actually”

“It might be worth the costs and time if we get something we _both_ like” I add a bit of weight to the word both because this male has a tendency to place my wants over his own in some regard, and I’m not letting him disregard what he wants for my sake.

“As I’ve told you, if I don’t like an idea of yours, you’ll know. I promised you honesty” I sigh, sipping down some cool, refreshing water.

“You just _always_ agree with me”

“Because I _always_ like your ideas. Should the day come when I don’t, I’ll let you know” I shake my head with a smile.

“I just don’t want to become a dictator in this matter”

“I know. You’re not being one, and you won’t become one. I’ll make sure of that” I lift my gaze to his and broaden my smile. “I’ll make sure you’re properly punished, should things start getting to your head” My smile shifts into a smirk.

“And how do you aim to punish me, Spymaster?” He smirks too, something wicked filling his gaze.

“It involves begging, and my hands” A pleasant shiver rushes down my spine.

“Sounds more like a good time” I murmur, a roughened edge finding my voice. He chuckles darkly, the sound making my skin crawl with longing.

“You’ll have to wait and see” For a time, we only hold the others gaze, the bond humming between us, but soon enough we manage to leash it and return to our lunch.

It’s a dangerous game of desire we can’t resist when alone like this. This teasing and taunting. But we manage. Azriel might have marked my neck more than once at this point, and my own lips have had a thorough taste of him, but we manage to keep it together for the most part, and cling to our senses when we _do_ decide to have some physical fun.

It’s never gone beyond exploratory hands and hungry mouths, but I know we both want more.

I often feel the evidence of that as I’m tucked in atop his chest throughout the nights, and I can’t say I dislike the feeling of knowing I’m wanted.

Soon enough, we wrap up lunch and prepare to head down to the town house and hand over the report, and with the rolled up bit of parchment in my hand, I head over to accept Azriel’s inviting embrace, his shadows swirling and coiling as they prepare to bring us to the balcony, and from there he’ll fly us down to the house.

My wings have healed enough that they no longer hurt, but I’ve only recently been getting them back to strength again, so I’m not confident flying myself yet. Flying in Azriel’s arms is a welcomed alternative these days though.

His arms encompass me in a firm embrace, and as darkness consumes us, I snuggle close and hold on tight, letting him gather me in his arms once we reach the balcony and feel no fear as he takes to the skies.

I only watch the city bellow. This gorgeous place I’ve come to call home.

One might say I’ve switched from one restricting place to another, but with my mate at my side it makes all the difference. And I’m not always secluded to observing from a distance. At times, I go to investigate the Courts and how they’re fairing in person, hidden in the light, and that small thing—that small allowance to see the world in person—does so much.

But now that I’ve found what I’ve always been looking for—have found Azriel—I feel no immediate need to see every nook and cranny of this vast world, but some day I’d love to visit the land I once called home, before Cretea, see what’s become of it after all this time.

We land before the town house, and Azriel carefully sets me back down to my feet, keeping me in his arms for just a moment longer to brush a kiss to the top of my head, then settles back into business mode and heads inside with me.

We pass Nuala and Cerridwen on our way to Rhys’s—and I suppose Feyre’s—office, and the twin wraiths greet us both with soft smiles. Azriel grants them a nod in return, but I deign to flash a smile back their way.

I glimpse Elain out in the garden for just a moment as we pass a window, but other than that, the house seems empty, Feyre off somewhere helping in the city as she seems to spend her every waking hour doing these days.

With her away, it leaves Rhys the only receiver of our report, and as we step into their office, we find the male seated in the chair, looking over some other bits of necessary paperwork, tapping his pen on the paper as he reads.

He stops once we arrive, straightens and greets us with a smile I read as tired, but genuinely glad to see us.

“Not even a second late, as always” He says with his usual swagger. Then his eyes shift to Azriel. “I’m almost inclined to scold you for not keeping your mate occupied with something other than work” Azriel just casts his brother a cold, unamused look, and I step forward to hand over my report, deciding to just move the subject along.

Rhys doesn’t need to know a thing about what we do and don’t do between our hours of work. That’s our own private knowledge, and while the circle has their rounds of teasing thrown our way, neither of us mind it. Let them think what they like, it’s only playful banter, after all.

“Care to give me a summary?” He asks as he takes the parchment, using a trick he learnt from Helion to duplicate it and save the copy for himself, then gives me back the original.

“Things are calm, but it might not last long” He nods slowly, giving the report a quick scan before setting it aside.

“I’ll have a closer look later, discuss with Feyre once she returns. Keep monitoring for now, I’ll let you know if the plan shifts” I bow my head curtly and step back to Azriel’s side. Rhys’s gaze snaps to him then. “And where’s your report?”

“There’s nothing to report, my spies can’t get in” Rhys sighs.

“Keep trying, there _has_ to be a way to infiltrate that damned palace” Azriel hums, his mind already mulling over the possible options remaining.

“We could go there, Estelle and I, see if we can slip inside in person” Rhys stiffens.

“Not yet. We don’t explore that option yet” Azriel does not argue, sees the unease in Rhys’s eyes and backs down.

He doesn’t want to risk loosing us, not now that we’ve finally found this fragile bit of peace.

“But head on your way. As much as I like both of your company, I’ve got hours worth of paperwork to sift through” Azriel dips his chin, and the both of us make way for the door again. “See you both at dinner tonight” He calls as we reach the door.

“See you there” Azriel confirms, and we head out to finally get a closer look at our property options.


	2. Envision

Velaris is breeding-ground for a _lot_ of lovely houses, if you look in the right places, but while the lovely houses in central Velaris are phenomenal and perfect in terms of spaciousness, the liveliness of the surrounding areas are off-putting enough to sway our minds from them.

Even as the salesmales show us around the properties, I can tell that Azriel’s uncomfortable with the places. His wings are tucked in too tightly, his back too stiffly straight, and his eyes are more wary than awestruck as he takes in the subjectively glorious spaces.

I agree with him, wholeheartedly, and so we politely leave each tour with the parting words that we’ll consider, then head over to the next option on our list, and the cycle continues.

Only once our search takes us up to the sloping foot of one of the surrounding mountains does the area itself instill a bit of calm in Azriel, and me for that matter.

The house itself is less than ideal, is small considering our wings—considering the fact we’d like to be able to stretch them out form time to time—but the sloping yard is large enough to add extensions or start over from scratch as we discussed hours prior.

The salesfemale leaves us to think outside the house, stood before the walkway leading up to it. And we think in silence for a long time before I decide to speak my mind.

“I like this place” I admit, and Azriel hums. “It’s a clam neighborhood, and… There’s a lot of space to do things, to change things how we’d like it”

“We’d need do completely overhaul the house, but there’s potential” I nod, leaning a little closer into his side, his arm tucking me in closer in repose.

“I can see it. Living here”

“Literally?” I laugh, lifting my head to look at him.

“No, but I can show you what I’m imagining” He nods down at me, and after a moment of thought, I illusion the place into a mirror of my imagination.

Azriel takes it in for a moment, takes in the small garden on the right, the neat walkway leading up to the little patio, and a spacious but simple two story house, made of a red stone brick to blend with the houses around us, detailed with white accents and a black roofing. And of course a balcony above the patio, overlooking Velaris.

“Any immediate thoughts?” I ask calmly, letting Azriel work out his thoughts without hurry.

“This is… Great. This looks great”

“It’s not too grand? We could do with a one story house and have a roof terrace instead” I shift the sight, keeping the aesthetic but basically squishing the height of the house and making its coverage bigger.

“It depends how much yard space we want, and if we want to deal with stairs all the time”

“For the sake of your old bones, perhaps a one story house would be preferable” He casts me a glare, and I meet it with a smirk.

“You’re not much younger than me, you know” I wave a lose hand before me.

“Specifics” He shakes his head and returns his eyes to the house. “But I agree, if we just have a staircase to the terrace it won’t be such a nuisance to go up and down for things” He hums.

“We could always add an upper floor later, if we want”

“Granted we take that into consideration during the initial construction” Azriel stays silent for a moment.

“How many rooms do we need” I consider the question.

“A kitchen, living room, office, at least one bathroom, and a bedroom” I mull over the floor planning then. “We could combine the kitchen and living room, make it an open space” He hums.

“And if we need more space, we just extend upwards” That sounds like a conclusion to me.

“Sounds like a plan” I let the illusion fall, revealing the less than phenomenal house stood on this bit of land. “Now we just have to turn _this_ into that”

“We’ll tear the house down and start from scratch, hire someone to help with blueprints and all that” I nod.

“So we’re agreed? This is it?” I ask, looking up at him again. His eyes are sparkling and lovely as he looks down at me, his lips tugging into a smile.

“This is it” He mimics, and a smile of my own quickly blooms on my lips.

“Well then, mate. Let’s find that salesfemale and lay our claim” He leans down for a quick but affectionate kiss, then guides me along to find her.

~O~

Exhausted doesn’t quite hit the mark when it comes to describing how I feel once Azriel and I return from dinner, having declined Mor’s offer to go to Rita’s. Utterly wrecked is more like it, and considering tomorrow is another day of hard work, I just want to throw myself into bed and sleep.

Azriel convinces me to at least change into my nightclothes, but once I’ve slipped into them and snuggled under the sheets of out vast bed, I feel about ready to pass out.

He joins me, tucks me in against his chest and holds me close, his long, heavy sigh clear evidence of his own exhaustion. I pray he gets proper sleep tonight, and not because he keeps me up with him, but because it worries me how little he’s getting.

“Tomorrow” He begins softly. “We speak with some architects and construction workers” I nod into his chest. “And we make sure we get things built before winter”

“There… There’s so much rebuilding needed across Velaris though…” I mumble. “Can we really add weight to that burden?” Azriel stays quiet for a moment.

“We can help relieve it by funding a couple dozen renovations” He offers softly, and I consider the option.

“Fine, okay” I mumble, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He answers by brushing a hand up into my hair. “But we… We keep it simple, we can add things next spring when things are better”

“Of course”


	3. Passage of Time

Walking along this quiet street, I watch Elain take in the houses we pass, most of them brick and stone, but some paneled with painted wood. She watches them with that gentle curiosity Elain often sports these days, and I wonder what little glimpses into the past or future she catches as we walk in this calm silence.

I Wonder if her powers still manifest after the Cauldron broke, or her Seer abilities faded with it. She hasn't confirmed or denied that.

I see our destination long before we arrive, see the worn down house situated just before a steeper slope of the mountain. With the plans sorted yesterday, it will soon be nothing but land, and some time after that it’ll be the home of our dreams.

Even if my excitement is contained, I am still very much excited for what the future holds for us.

“We’re here” I state, stopping Elain and I before the upwards-sloping yard. She whirls to look, to behold the house stood before us, and her head tilts to the side just a fraction.

“A house” She states, her doe eyes taking in the space.

“Not just any house” Her eyes shift to me. “My house” They widen into globes. “Azriel and I’s house” I look to it. “Well, it will be eventually, we’re doing a complete overhaul, but it’ll be lovely in the end, I think”

“You’ve bought this?” She asks, her voice a shocked whisper.

“Yes, we mainly did it for the situation, not the house itself, but… Would you help me plan out the garden?” I look to her, and she shifts her eyes to me. “I’d love if it blended with the mountains, had flowers that grow along the mountainsides” I watch Elain’s mind get to work, and her legs soon carry her to the yard, her eyes assessing, planning, considering. “Up for the job?” She looks back at me, a solid determination in her eyes.

“Of course I am” I smile, dig out my sketchbook from my over-the-shoulder bag and step onto the yard with her, and once we find a nice spot in the sun to sit in, we begin the work of sketching out ideas.

~O~

Between work and overseeing house construction, I find myself in the kitchen with Elain these days, baking all kinds of pastries or plain breakfast bread. It’s a relaxing change of pace between everything. Azriel usually finds reason to spar with his brothers when I decide to help Elain in the kitchen, and I figure knowing I’m _cooking_ is a taunt all on it’s own for the poor male.

Whatever bond-induced frustrations it digs up are mostly quelled by the time night comes—mainly because Az has worked himself to the bone and can hardly stay awake a second after his head hits the pillow. I should be joining that sparring, sparring at all for that matter, but I’ve yet to resume my morning routine with Cassian, unfortunately.

Cooking with Elain is another kind of workout though, because I’m really not a good chef, and once the day comes when I formally accept the bond, I want to at least know what I’m doing.

“Have you thought about what to make for Azriel?” Elain asks softly where she’s kneading a portion of the bun dough beside me. Nuala and Cerridwen say nothing, but I feel their knowing gazes.

“No, I haven’t” I admit, because I can’t, for the life of me, decide what dish to cook. “But I’m leaning towards something spicy” Her brows arch in question. “He’s surprisingly resistant to chili” Elain smiles, her face twisted in what seems like confusion. “He ate a whole chili pepper when we were out eating at Sevenda’s one evening, raw, and he didn’t even look affected. He said it was _tasty_ ” Elain laughs then, a soft giggle so sweet it should be illegal. “I mean, I grew up on spicy foods, but even _I_ can’t do that” I swear I hear Nuala laugh, just once.

“Maybe something from your homeland then, something spicy” I shrug.

“Maybe, or I’ll just give him a biscuit and call it done, I don’t think he’d mind” Now I’m sure Nuala laughs, though Cerridwen continues to radiate silent amusement. Elain can’t hinge her giggles at this point. “Then again, it should be memorable” I resume work on my own bit of dough.

“When the day comes, we will help” Nuala says, looking over at us from her own work. I cast the half-wraith a smile.

“Please do, or I might burn down the kitchen” And I’m not even joking.

~O~

“Come on, Nameless, try again” I sigh, but do as my ancient friend says, reaching my hand out before me and calling the light to me, to gather into something resembling the beams I created during the last battle.

It drapes my hand in darkness—surprisingly—makes the world around me dim a substantial amount, but when I release it and will it forward—into that stupid straw dummy that I swear is mocking me—the white beam is as harmless as all other attempts, not even leaving a dent on the dummy’s body.

“This isn’t working” I sigh, my hand falling limply to my side. “Normal light wasn’t made for this, not like the Cauldron’s. It can’t kill as I did then”

“Of course _normal_ light can kill, how else would it burn plains into deserts? Or turn human skin into a blistering mess?” I suppose she has a point. “What you need to learn is to only call that deadly aspect of light to you, and hone it to your wishes” I look her way, as small as ever, even in her new High Fae body.

“I don’t decide what _kind_ of light I absorb, I don’t think I _can_ ” A dark brow of her arches.

“Have you tried?” I hold her gaze. “Try to find the deadly light in the world and call it to you. Only the deadly light” I sigh and close my eyes, trying my best to _feel_ the light around me, how it varies in intensity, what sets some of it apart form the rest of it.

I feel the differences, I can tell it's there, but I can’t pluck it out form a crowd, can’t pinpoint _where_ this different, stronger light is amongst everything else.

“It’s there, but I can’t… I can’t tug at it, I can’t find it” Amren hums, and I open my eyes to look at her again.

“Keep trying to call it to you, some day it’s bound to listen” I wonder if she misses the deadly light she ones harbored, or if her new, _ordinary_ Fae magic is a relief to her, like a burden lifted from her shoulders. “We’ll do this again in two weeks, I expect results” I sigh, but nod, well aware that accepting Amren’s tutoring was bound to be as strict—if not stricter than my tutoring during my youth.

But I want to learn. I want to grow stronger both magically and physically. Mother knows I need the latter, but I’ll figure out how to blend it into my schedule soon. It can’t be _that_ difficult to find the time, can it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading acosf also had... inspirational purposes. You'll see what I mean next chapter.


	4. Hunger

With construction moving along and work remaining unfruitful in the Human-Fae conflict department—which is a good thing—I’ve managed to carve out a couple hours every evening for pure physical exercise.

I’ve fit it into our schedule so that I do it while Azriel’s doing his paperwork—which he prefers to do alone much like I prefer to do mine alone—and my body is starting to feel the effects. Especially my wings, which I will _not_ move from their sprawl across this soft, lovely bed. Not if I can help it.

The door behind me clicks open, but I don’t move, not a muscle.

“Estelle?” I hum in answer, but even _that_ sound pathetic and meek. “Did you overdo it again” He states more than asks, his feet carrying him deeper into the room. I hum a yes, and I soon feel the bed shift as Azriel’s weight joins the mix. “You need to be careful, you could seriously hurt yourself” He states, carefully seating himself on my upper thighs. “I assume your back’s the worst” I hum again, and his hands make quick work of the buttons keeping my back flaps sealed and carefully pushes up my beige workout shirt, exposing said sore back.

Without another word, he starts kneading, his scarred hands gentle yet attentive as they move across my back, each precise sweep birthing sounds from me that would suggest we’re up to something completely different.

My body’s reaction is very much in line with said other thing though, and I don’t care to hide that.

Azriel doesn’t say a word, doesn’t comment on the scent I must emit as his hands slowly turn my tense muscles into mush, but he doesn’t have to speak to let me know he’s enjoying my sounds. I can both hear and scent it for myself, which only excites me more.

His hands rim the edge between wing and back, giving that area a particularly thorough kneading, each touch an intentional tease that’s as infuriating as he aims it to be.

“Anywhere specific you’d like me to knead?” He asks, his voice a low rasp. I can only moan as his thumbs dig into the flesh just below the joints of my wings, my breath coming in short, chipped pants as my heart accelerates by the second, fire filling my blood, coiling in my abdomen.

How am I supposed to keep resisting him when everything he does just makes me want to fuck him?

“Perhaps your wings need some care” His hands ghost over the base of them. “What do you say, _mate_ ” His voice is like a dark seductive melody, a voice that never fails to set my every nerve aflame.

“Azriel…” I breathe, my mind too heavy with desire to form proper words.

“What was that?” Oh this prat. He leans over me, his heat sinking into my skin, his breath tickling my neck as he leans in close to my ear. “What do you want, Stella?” He murmurs, his hips grinding faintly against my behind, the feel of his length undeniable despite the layers of fabric between us.

I fist the sheets and grind right back, his low groan like music to my ears as it slips past his lips, right into my ear, the sound going straight to my core.

“Naughty” He scolds darkly, straightening in his seating again, snatching away the lovely feel of him. “Something like _that_ can’t go unpunished” His hands land at the bases of my wings, fingers coil around their limbs, but do not grip them. Even so, I’m wholly aware of every point of contact, and uncontrollable shivers rush through me as his thumbs trace the edges of the joints, digging in ever so slightly.

“ _Azriel_ …” I groan as he pushes those thumbs deeper, right where he knows I love it, my aching back arching against the touch, my blood burning with lust.

He chuckles, stops, and a pathetic string of whimpers slip out of me.

“So needy” He murmurs. “Wouldn’t you agree?” And just then I feel his shadows begin to rake their way across my bare back, skittering along my burning skin. They murmur and whisper their incoherent agreements, the lot of them coiling their way up my wings, their cool touch sending shivers down my spine in pleasurable waves. “Never satisfied”

His hands slip down from my wings, down my back and up the arch of my bottom, his hands squeezing firmly enough to be maddening, but not painful, his thumbs reaching for the aching part of me; pleading for his attention with every pulse of my heart.

“Again, tell me what you want, Estelle” He rasps, voice heavy with his own building desire. “Tell me, and it’s yours” He squeezes harder, and I buck my hips against his touch as a soft pleading moan slips past my lips, partly muffled by the pillow I lay upon. “With words” I groan and will my head to move, to shift and look back at him over my shoulder, my eyelids heavy with both fatigue and lust. But mostly lust a this point.

“Touch me…” He grins, but his eyes remain darkened by desire, and as my gaze slips down his seated frame, I find the clear evidence of that desire straining against his black pants.

I can barely reign the need to feel him inside me, can hardly think of anything but his hard, glorious length spreading me wide.

“My eyes are up here” He rasps, and my eyes reluctantly slip back to his, the gold of them almost completely devoured by his pupils. “Where shall I touch?” His hands slip upwards, cup the slim valley of my waist, his hands nearly large enough to reach each other across the narrow pass.

“You _know_ what I want” I breathe, my impatience clear, and I can’t find it in me to care. He chuckles.

“You _know_ I love when you’re assertive” His shadows coil tighter along my wings, sending pleasure spearing for my center. I growl, claw my nails into the sheets and glare back at him.

“Just _finger me_ , you _prat_ ” He smirks, hands slipping down to the hem of my pants and tugging down. Slowly.

“There you go” He purrs, slipping my pants down past my bum, teasingly kneading my bared figure as his thumbs trail slow circles closer and closer to my center. “That wasn’t so hard, was it” I growl, but it fades into a sharp gasp as one of his thumbs press against my clothed center, his chest rumbling contently in response to what he finds there.

His other hand reaches for the hem of my underthings and tugs them down as well, baring me to the world in a swift yet careful tug. The tug naturally bucks my hips, and his hand is quickly there, thumb testing the waters as it brushes through my folds, his growl of delight blending with my strangled moans of pleasure and need.

Every touch is like fire, every brush of his roughened skin electrifying. Yet it’s infuriating. Utterly infuriating to feel him skim past where I want him, _need_ him, and he does it again, and again, and again, his amusement meddling with his desire down the cord of moonlight between us, as he surely feels my growing fury.

“Azriel” I warn as he slips past again, and while he pauses, stills his fingers right before my entrance, the male only smirks down at me, even though his panting breaths and raging heart gives away just how worked up he is as well.

“Where’s my please?” I snarl and bare my teeth, pushing myself back against his fingers in silent demand. “So ill-mannered” And then he slips in, my face burying into the pillow as uncontrollable moans slip form my lips.

He pumps, each one reaching deep and true, finding that spot inside me with undaunted precision time and time again until my moans are soft cries of pleasure, my aching body quickly coiling and bracing for release.

It’s embarrassing how quickly he unravels me, how easily his touch unbinds me.

Leaning back over me, his lips find their way to my neck, his hand not missing a beat as he works me towards the edge. The shadows do their part as well, tightening their grip of my wings in just the right way, working me higher and higher, until the sharp, pleasurable pain of his teeth sinking into my skin tips me over, and I fall and fall and fall, my body unraveling in a cry of bliss and ecstasy.

Once he’s worked me through the aftershocks, his hand slips from me, leaving me in complete relaxation, my body a mushy mess of relaxed goodness.

I hear his rasping pants in my ear as his teeth dislodge, his tongue smoothing over the little hurt before he straightens, his hand taking leverage against my hip as he heaves—a hand soon accompanied by another—fingers gripping me like he can’t quite bare to let me go just yet, sweeping along my sweat-coated skin.

“Good?” Gone is the seductive melody, replaced by this breathless rasp of hardly hinged desire that has the flame in me rekindling.

Gods, what will it be like when we actually _mate_?

“ _Yes_ …” I breathe, shakily pushing myself up on my elbows, groaning as I fold in my aching wings, his shadows aiding the act to an extent. He lifts himself up enough to let me turn to lay on my back, my elbows still keeping me partially upright as I take in the male seated on my upper thighs, his hair tussled, clothing skewed, pants disconcertingly tight.

Reaching out a hand, I beckon him closer, usher him to me, and he obeys, his crawl that of a prowling predator as he settles over me, lips locking onto my own, a hand slipping up beneath my shirt while the other reaches up into my hair.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss, only a hunger and desire and lust that I wish I could fully sate, but know how to efficiently quench for the time being. Slipping a hand up his back, I trail the edge of his membrane, delighting in the hiss he slips between our lips, the way his hips buck against me as I trail higher and higher along his limb, settling at the base of his claw and push my fingers into the sensitive spot.

His deep groan is like music to my ears, the feel of him twitching against my leg thrilling and exciting, and as he tries to lift his hips, escape from the friction, I coil my other leg around him and keep him firmly in place. The low sound rumbling up from the depths of him reminds me of complaint, especially as I press my thigh up into him, grind into the writhing hardness of him all while I torture his sensitive wing, a wings which has flared out like a drape above us in response to my touch.

I scrape my nail against the spot, and Azriel’s body jolts, his lips tearing from mine as he leans his head back and gasps for air, eyes rolled back in his skull.

“Estelle…” He breathes, my name a plea and a prayer.

Look who’s the needy one now.

“Roll over” I instruct, and his wings tuck in tight before he rolls us both over, leaving me sprawled atop his chest rather than pinned beneath him. “Good boy” I purr, leaning down to trail a mouthy line of kisses down his jaw, his neck, his throat, all while keeping my leg firmly ground into his groin, though my hand has chosen to leave his wing alone.

Then I slip down, sneak my hands beneath his shirt and tuck it upwards, baring the glorious muscles beneath, muscles I kiss and crawl my way down in a sloppy path towards his straining pants, my blood thrumming with the need to feel him, in any way I can have him.

His own heart is hammering the same need into my head the closer I get, and the moment I hook my fingers onto the buckle of his belt, that heartbeat spikes and rages with a need so intense I’m surprised he even manages to stay laid where he is.

I undo it swiftly, unbind it and unbutton his pants, swiftly tucking them down, leaving only the lose pair of undershorts between him and I.

I can see him pulse and push against the fabric, see the lust raging in him as much as I feel and hear and scent it, but while I could easily just rip this bit of fabric away and quell both his desire and mine, such haste wouldn’t be any fun, would it.

So I let my hand slip up and palm him—not that I can cover all of him, not nearly—and slowly work my way up. His shadows whirl like a storm around us, whispering the pleas and urges his own lips do not utter as his hands palm the sheets, dark moans and deep groans clawing their way up his throat.

“So needy” I purr, slowly working my way down again. “All of you” I address the shadows along with him as I let my golden wind dance with that living darkness, their whispers almost shifting into moans as I coil my own power around them. “Absolutely insatiable” Azriel’s eyes part into slivers, gazing down at me through heavy, dark lashes.

Knowing I have his visual attention, I let my tongue trace the clothed length of him, his brow crinkling and jaw slacking as he battles whatever urges rage within him, his knuckles going white as he fists the dark, silky sheets tighter.

“Tell me what you want” I mirror his words form before, letting them bite him in the ass now, and enjoying every moment of it. “Tell me, and you shall receive” I tighten my grip of him, right at his base, and Azriel pushes his head back against the cushion, groaning through his teeth. “ _That’s_ not an answer. But you know that” I lean up to kiss a line along the hem of his dark shorts, granting me a low growl from the male bellow me.

“ _Lick me_ before I deem your release a mating offer” Because that’s indeed remnants of his hard work smeared on his chin, consumed from his hand during my moment of mushy relaxation, I assume.

“A simple _please_ would have sufficed” I muse, slipping my hand up to grip his undershorts and tugging them down in a swift, efficient motion, baring his glory to the world.

He looks as delicious as the night I first beheld him.

“You may still beg” He growls, and I grin at him before taking his length in my hand and tracing my tongue along its ascent. His sharp breath and subsequent moan as I reach his head is all worth the wait, and satisfies me enough to take him into my mouth without much further hesitance, burying him as deep in me as my body allows.

His hips buck, and even though my eyes prickle with tears as I hold back the urge to gag, I let him move with me as I take him deeply and hungrily, my tongue lapping along every reachable bit of him in my desperate need to taste and feel and fuck him.

I can’t have the latter but I’ll do the former two well to compensate.

As swiftly as he unraveled me, his release comes toppling over him in a drawling groan of pleasure, his seed filling my mouth in a series of bursts I work to keep contained as he slowly comes down from his high, eventually letting me slip him out and sit back on my knees, swallowing him down with nothing but a content hum.

Looking down at his disheveled self—even his shadows left in tatters around his panting frame—I feel nothing but smug delight and satisfaction. But he only remains laid back for a moment before he pushes himself up to sit before me, his eyes still wild and demanding, his breath much the same.

“We need a bath” He rasps, and considering the gleam of sweat on his brow, and the coat of it lining myself, I agree.

“Bring me there, _Spymaster”_ He doesn’t waste a second, his hands gripping my hips and tucking me to him as he swings off the bed, my arms safely coiled around his neck and legs doing the same around his waist as he caries me to the grand bathroom linked to our bedroom, nearly tripping on his own pants. Soaking in those steaming waters together, we give the bond one last quench each before we call it an evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me and smut usually hasn't worked well together, but I've channeled my inner Maas and studied the holy scriptures (chapter 55 and basically all of acosf), and I feel like I'll manage fine. I wasn't sure whether things like this made this book candidate for explicit rating, but if Sarah can sell acotar as a YA series, then this can pass as mature.


	5. Contemplation

Despite Azriel’s words of concern regarding my physical well-being, I’m back on the roof of the House the next evening, going through my exercises in my lonesomeness, my dual practice blades my only partners as I dance with the wind itself.

Every careful and calculated breath burns my lungs, every precise swipe and motion sears through my muscles, but I embrace that pain, my mind set on returning to what I once was.

I killed in this war, I did it plenty, but my sloppiness and general inability to keep up with my own mind—physically—was infuriating.

I was one of Drakon’s most powerful warriors, perhaps not in his actual legions, but I was a honed weapon he used well, no matter my personal thoughts about the matter. I’ve dulled over the decade, significantly, and while an edge is still there, the steel itself is rusty, and the only way to truly sharpen it again is to re-forge it, and if that means enduring this pain, I will always do it.

Azriel’s doing his evening paperwork, going over his reports in the peace he’s asked for, a peace that mirrors my own morning session of silent observation and noting down my findings. We still work together, we share our findings and go over things together, but we’re both so used to working alone that it simply feels right to do this—to have this bit of time to ourselves—and I think it’s good for us. It’s definitely good for productivity, considering we can’t quite resist the urge to flirt and whatnot whenever we spend longer periods of time together, but it’s also good for our minds.

We’re both reserved. Low maintenance when it comes to social interaction. The fact that we’re mates doesn’t change the fact that we’re loners, and while we enjoy each other's company, moments to ourselves are still valued things.

There’s also the fact that Azriel’s shadows work best in the evenings, and my sight is safest to use in the mornings.

But working together doesn’t always mean working beside one another.

We have a mission planned though, one ours to execute together, and while I understand _why_ Rhys has assigned the mission to us rather than he and Feyre, I’m not too keen on going.

Another use for exercise. Venting.

Cretea. A diplomatic trip to Cretea to make sure everything’s in order over the sea—that the Cauldron has been efficiently stowed away. Considering it’s late September, the weather’s bound to be shifting into the shitty department, which means I won’t even get to see Cretea in its full blossoming glory, but hopefully a couple late summer flowers will still be in bloom, so I can dry-press some and give to Elain. If there's time.

But the weather isn’t the real issue. It’s the people.

Drakon might have given me his reasons, might have _apologized_ , in a way, but even if my view of him has shifted to an extent, the disdain is still in there, still a festering thing inside me.

No matter his reasons—his good intentions—the mission to Hybern felt like being discarded, and while I may have lunged at the opportunity to leave the prison Cretea had become for me, it still stung to be thrown away like that again. After all my years of loyal servitude, I was to be thrown out without a care, and even if Drakon didn’t intend for it that way, my perception of the event still holds sway in me. A couple words of apology and clarity does not make up for how he made me feel, how his act to free me contributed to the sense of inadequacy I felt. Still feel to some degree.

Returning to full strength will hopefully help return some of my confidence, and being strong enough to fly again is a must before I return to that rock in the ocean.

Spreading my wings wide, I leap back into the air, flap once to propel me higher and flip back to land on my feet, blades posed to strike as I land steadily on my feet. For a moment, I breathe, just focus on breathing and filling my body with air, letting it cool down a fraction before standing back straight, my arms falling limply at my sides.

They work, at least. My injuries could have very well permanently severed an important bit of tissue, but they’re fine. They’re weak, but they’re fine.

I stretch and fold them, do the exercises again and again until my back and neck and stomach are on fire, my breathing once more a rasp.

The cool air of the mountain helps ease the burn, especially now that fall is settling over Prythian, and it helps explain why a training ring has been placed here, of all places.

It’s rather obvious really. Not only does the cooler air help keep you from overheating, but the thinner air helps teach your lungs to absorb everything it can get. It’s a very efficient way to work on your endurance without running for hours on end, or flying for long periods of time. We did the same on Cretea, and our old lands, utilized the mountains for certain exercises, used them to prepare us for the thin air we’d fly through eventually.

This place is no different.

My eyes fall to the spot along the edge Azriel and I used to sit on, sometimes in comfortable silence, just watching the stars, and other times Azriel would tell me stories of the world, the things I did not know of at the time.

It makes a part of my heart glimmer with warmth. But a spot not far from there makes a wariness slip into my blood.

I didn’t lie when I said he was forgiven, that I understand the panic that must have overcome him when the bond clicked into place, but the memories of that night are still not pleasant, and not only because he left me there.

Just as Azriel’s whole world was turned upside down, mine was as well. Returned to how it had been before the bargain, but still flipped on its head. My new life was destroyed and I was forced to accept that, embrace that or fade back into what I’d once been on Cretea, before then even.

What had I been? A mindless minion? An empty shell who only sought to fill the void? Both of those things. I let myself be bossed around, let myself be used in search of fulfillment. Another reason I can’t truly blame Drakon for my misery. I allowed it to rule me. But he allowed it to go on for centuries.

It’s not like he had any obligation to _care_ , not really, not as long as I did my job right, but after seeing Rhys care so much for his Inner Circle—like family—I feel like Drakon could have… I don’t know, been better?

I suppose everyone can be that. I could have done things differently too, no one’s _truly_ to blame for how things turned out other than myself, because I _let_ myself fade. I _wanted_ to fade for a while, somewhere around the end of my time in Cretea.

Going to Hybern held many attractive opportunities, one of which was disappearing somewhere far away where no one would know me, and I would know no one. But it also held another option.

I shudder at the thought, fold my arms around myself and bring my wings in too.

A suicide mission, one I accepted without hesitance or resistance, because I had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Either it would grant me freedom, or it would grant me the gentle embrace of oblivion.

When my memories were stripped away and I was left with nothing but this blank slate, it took away some of that bleak emptiness. It enhanced my wish to live and helped me pull through it all, and I wonder… I wonder if the bargain had a part in it. Drakon said he kept aspects of it under lock and key, whose to say he didn’t make sure I couldn’t let go of life through that bargain as well.

_That_ will remain something I do not ask the prince. Because I don’t want to know.

I don’t want to know whether I would have given up without such a tampering. I don’t want to know whether I would have let go and forgone this bright future I now have ahead of me, all in favor of eternal peace.

I don’t want to consider a world where I left Azriel before I even met him, gave up before I’d truly fought for him.

Because despite all my longing for something beyond my narrow reaches, I never went. I never followed the call of the shadows, and I came _so_ close to never doing so. I came so close to missing out on this love, this joy and happiness.

“The shadows say you’re brooding” Azriel’s midnight voice slips into the calm evening air, his heartbeat reaching my ears suddenly enough that I scare ever so slightly, my head straightening to look out before me. It means he heard and came right over.

“Snitches” I mutter, just in time for Azriel’s arms to come around me, tucking me back against his chest as his face snuggles into the top of my head.

“What’s wrong?” I lean into his embrace with a sigh, his warmth welcome now that my body’s chilled again, the wind having torn the warmth away.

“I… I was just thinking about things” His silence is that of waiting. Wishing for me to elaborate, but not about to push me. “Our mission to Cretea, amongst things”

“You’re not forced to go if you’re uncomfortable”

“I know, but… You’ll still have to go, Rhys and Feyre are busy, and I want to be there with you when you see it, show you the things I _do_ find lovely about Cretea”

“Hot springs?” He asks, his tone mildly suggestive. I smile.

“Maybe” He brushes a kiss to the side of my temple, even though I’m probably sweaty and gross.

“What other things?” He asks calmly, no urgency or demand, just calm curiosity.

“I… I was ready to die, going into Hybern” He stills behind me. “Either I got out, or I got captured and eventually killed. I was content with either outcome going in but… Something kept me going after the bargain locked into place” He remains silent as death. “I’ve begun to wonder if maybe… maybe the bargain made sure I couldn’t give up, because I… It was bad, I don’t know if I’ve told you that before”

“I’ve figured” He mumbles, his tone as displeased with the subject as I feel.

“I came so close… So close to not finding this place. Finding you” His grip of me tightens.

“You’re here” He states, to soothe both our minds, I’d say.

“I am” I mumble, lifting a hand to brush along the back of his palm, even though I still clutch the sparring blades. “I intend to stay, but I just… So many things could have been so very different in so many ways, both for better or worse, had I acted differently in some regards throughout my life”

“We can’t change the past” He murmurs, his tone melodic and soothing.

“Just shape the future” I breathe, recalling the night I said those same words to him, on this roof no less. “And you know what? Despite all the shit this world has pulled… I’m glad It’s brought me to you” I shift my head to look up at him, and he shifts his to meet that gaze. “I look forward to life with you” He leans down, catching my lips in a soft, gentle kiss, so at odds with last evening’s fire.

“Likewise” He murmurs against them once we part, and I slip up for a quick last peck before settling back against his chest, and his head returns to rest atop my own. “Do you have family on Cretea?” He asks softly after some time in silence, looking out across the city bellow, bathed in the last golden light of dusk.

“Yes, but not really” He doesn’t question that, but I decide to share more, know I need to keep sharing more with him, more about me, and he about himself. Only then can we grow. “My parents sent me off to the academy when I was old enough to make it on my own, we’ve never really… recovered from that” I linger in silence for a moment, and Azriel lets it linger. “I was… difficult as a child. Not only did I drift, but when I was lucid I… I had temperament, believe it or not” He lets out a soft snort.

“I believe it” I roll my eyes.

“I… I don’t know why I was so prone to anger, but I was, and once I turned ten I was shipped off to the academy to put that anger to good use, I guess” And now it’s been honed to a lethal blade, one I use efficiently when needed, and keep sheathed when unneeded. For the most part.

Thinking back on it now, perhaps that apparent act of abandonment wasn’t abandonment at all, but a gift. An attempt to find me sufficient help, for all my… Issues.

If so, it worked, but at what cost? What did it break in the process? What cracks remain in me now?

“You’re doing it again” Azriel murmurs softly, and I close my eyes with a sigh.

“It’s a night of contemplation, Azzy” He hums.

“Think you’ll be able to sleep?” A genuine question coming from someone who spends some nights pondering as well.

“I don’t know” I admit.

“Maybe some sparring will help tire you out” He suggests, gently grasping one of my wooden blades from me, and I let him take it.

“My body’s already pretty worn down, but…” I slip out of his grip, raise my blade and face him. “Why not. Unless you left work behind to check on me” His eyes only twinkle, then he raises his claimed blade in answer to my own. “You did, didn't you” My tone is calm and even.

“It’s nothing that can’t wait ‘til morning”

“So we’ll share the office tomorrow?”

“We need to go over our trip anyways” I suppose that’s true. “But I could settle in our room, if you’d rather be alone” I shake my head, my weather-worn braid whipping at my back.

“No, you’re welcome to disturb me” A smile tugs onto his lips.

“Wonderful” And then we dance this rather playful dance of death—one Azriel continues to win again and again because he’s a competitive bastard—continuing well into the hour, until a final soak in the bath eventually brings us to bed, and while it takes a long while, I eventually find sleep in the safety of his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one for today.


	6. Cretea

The house is coming along nicely. By the time we return from Cretea, the rough construction will be finished, and all we’ll need to decide is how to design the interior. What flooring to lay, what tapestries along the walls, or plain paint. Those kinds of things. I’ve made sure to pack things to allow us to ponder on that between whatever diplomatic meetings we’re made to sit through on Cretea, so we’ll hopefully be ready to make the decisions once we return, if we find the time for that.

We’re set to leave in the next hour, and as I sit with Azriel on our shared bed, hands working his braid into renewed perfection—the feather now strapped to golden thread as I considered before—I don’t allow myself to be nervous.

My wings can make the flight. They’re not nearly as strong as I’d like, but if I glide and let my wind aid me, I can make it just fine. Azriel can always give me a moment to rest in his arms along the way, it’ll be alright.

Finishing the braid—which has gotten a little longer now along with Azriel’s hair in general—I give the feather a twirl, the same I gave him months ago now. I could give him a bigger one, but to switch it out feels wrong. Only if the feather is damaged beyond repair do Seraphim lovers change them. Even if Azriel’s not a Seraphim, we’re no different.

To have him wear this will be an obvious claim, and I prefer it that way. It’s not often Seraphims see new things, and I’d say most females would find an Illyrian male… Exotic and exciting. I suppose I would have been the same had I recalled any Seraphim males before meeting Azriel and his brothers, but that lingering sense of awe is not as strong as what I’ll assume from others of my kind.

But he is _mine_ , and I’ll make sure they know that.

I doubt Azriel will care for any advances his way, but still.

“Are you ready?” He asks calmly, and I lower my hand to his shoulder, shifting my gaze over to him. I nod faintly, and he stands, reaching for my hand and pulling me to my feet as I accept the invitation laced in swirling shadows.

“Are you?” I ask as he reels me in, hands slipping down to my hips while mine rest on his chest.

We’re both clad in flying leathers today. Azriel’s full armor was a little overkill for a friendly visit, Rhys deemed. We’re both still armed to the teeth though, there’s no telling what might intercept our trip, what dangers still lurk in the world. We take no risks in that regard.

“I am” His hand lifts, brushes a path down my left cheek, tracing whatever scars remain of the slice I suffered in the war, mercifully mild thanks to my Fae healing. “One word, and we leave, no questions asked” I frown softly, though smile as well.

“That doesn’t sound diplomatic” He leans down, pressing his brow to mine.

“If you’re uncomfortable, diplomacy can go fuck itself” I laugh faintly.

“You make a great courtier” He snorts.

“I usually do, but you’re my priority” That hand settles to cup my cheek. “Rhys can give me hell, I don’t care. One word, and we leave” I nod ever so slightly, a part of me relieved to know that, even if it feels wrong to just _leave_. It’s a bit of security I cherish.

Reaching up, I lock his lips with mine, hopeful he feels the gratitude through it, that I let it show through the motions, let it reach him down the bridge of pale moonlight.

~O~

The flight goes fine. I rest for a moment in Azriel’s arm around the midway mark, but once we make to land on the volcanic island of dark rock and autumn colored greenery, I do so all on my own, landing on the designated platform alongside Drakon’s escorts who met us at the border of the wards.

None of us have said a thing, and nothing continues to be said as they guide us from the platform and into the palace of dark volcanic rock.

As our soles click against the polished marble floor, I take the time to observe the halls we pass through, wide and grand to make room for its winged occupants, the roof high enough that you could fly, should you wish. The deep, almost black rock and white marble is offset by sheer golden curtains and natural wooden furniture, hosing all kinds of potted plants, some blooming while some remain mere leaves. The neatly sculpted chandeliers line our path, glittering with faelight and casting the space in soft light.

It’s exactly the same as I recall, which leaves my observation a mere sweep of recollection, but Azriel’s eyes seem focused, alert and observant, watching every fork in our path as he maps out the place in his head, no doubt keeping track of escape routes.

Not because he necessarily has to, but because it’s habit.

Much like Rhysand’s House of Wind, Drakon’s palace is littered with balconies, most of which are closed off in the wake of autumn, but the glass doors help bring in the feeling of openness the dark rock around us otherwise quells by it’s darkness.

My observation comes to a halt as we reach a set of grand dual doors, intricately carved out of wood and lined with details of gold, the motif wings and feathers and the sun.

The Seraphim have always been a people of day and light, but while my power derives from those things, I have always been the moon, reflecting the light of the sun elsewhere, commanding it to my will.

The two stationed guards before the doors—one female and one male—open the grand doors to allow us to pass, and as we step into the vast hall I know to be Drakon’s throne-room, it too looks the same as the day I left. The only difference is that Miryam’s throne is occupied by the female alongside Drakon today, both of them here to greet us both.

Our escorts stop, and so do we, our eyes never swaying from the two faeries seated on those perched thrones. Neither of them look uninviting, but Miryam’s smile is much brighter than Drakon’s, definitely, but perhaps it’s my biased opinion showing its face again.

“Welcome to my home, Azriel and Estelle of the Night Court” I wonder if it feels strange to him, to find me an ally, but not quite as it once was. Both Azriel and I bow our heads in acknowledgment and greeting. “I hope the winds here were favorable, Mother knows the sea can be tumultuous this time of year” Our trip here was surprisingly clear, actually, but clouds on the horizon hints at a looming storm of some sort. I hope we leave before it hits.

“Your journey was calm, the winds kind” Azriel speaks in my stead, his tone as even and cool as always when presented with social interactions outside family. Drakon looks pleased to hear it, Miryam relieved.

“You’ve flown far, a couple of hours to rest before politics might be inbound, wouldn’t you both agree?” Azriel’s eyes drift to me, and mine drift to him.

“Where are we to stay, in that case?” Azriel states, returning his attention to Drakon. Miryam is the one to speak.

“We have arranged suites for you both in the palace” Something like caution enters her eyes. “We weren’t sure whether you wished to remain in one, or separate, but should you wish for the former, you need only neglect the second option. They are adjacent to one another” We only bow our heads.

“Lunch will be served to whichever room you choose by twelve, and I’ve scheduled our trip to the vault around one. Guards will come and escort you here come the time. For the time being, you may explore the grounds, see our home. Any place restricted to you, you will learn of should the need arise” Some rooms are warded, I presume.

“Thank you for your hospitality” Azriel continues to play pleasant courtier with ease. If the mates seated on this podium note my silence, they do not comment.

“It’s our pleasure to accommodate our allies and friends” Drakon waves a hand, and our dual escort moves, presumably to take us to our room. “I hope you find your stay pleasant” And so we’re dismissed, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken the freedom to design Cretea since Sarah never really describes the place.


	7. Accommodated

We pick the corner room bordering the outer walls, and as the guards leave us to settle in, I take in the familiar space.

White marble floors softened by plush gold rugs, dark walls lined with tapestries housing the Seraphim insignia—white wings cocooning a golden sun atop a sky-blue and white background—along with colorful paintings of the environment, the frames intricately carved and pained gold. Bookshelves line the far left wall, a group of plush armchairs suited for winged occupants occupying the corner, draped in the natural light of a tall, slim window, lined with the same sheer, golden curtains of the halls, just as all other windows in the space.

There’s a dining table in the space as well, suited for a group of four, perhaps five. Carved into the wall directly opposite of our entrance is a glass balcony door, leading out to a small little terrace, the railing draped in wines and greenery, though the leaves growing golden in the late season. Lining the right wall are two arched doors, one leading to a presumed bathroom, and the other to a bedroom.

A suite indeed.

And… My eyes land on a piano tucked into the corner of the room, along the left wall, just beside the bookshelves. It’s out of place enough to have been placed here with purpose, and while I knew Drakon was aware of my pastime—must have seen the piano in my own apartment at least once—it’s existence surprises me. Did they put one in each suite just in case?

I don’t let myself dwell, not a I step into the space and set down my bag of necessities on the dinner table, breathing the exhausted sigh I haven't dared to utter since we landed.

Azriel’s soon there with me, his own satchel on the table beside mine, and his hands drift up to my shoulders, assuming a slow kneading along my tense neck. My wings immediately slack down my sides in relaxation and invitation, and Azriel’s hands accepts it with vigor and will.

“A bath before lunch?” He asks calmly, at which I nod faintly, keen on the idea of a hot, steaming bath after our long flight in the crisp autumn air.

Without another word, Azriel slips his hands down from my neck and coils one around my waist, and I guide him to the door I know leads to the bathing chamber, adjacent to the hallway rather than the outer wall.

Memory serves me well, and as we open the door, the sight of the vast bathing chamber is revealed to us.

I’m not particularly surprised myself, but Azriel takes in the expansive bath with lightly widened eyes, carved from black volcanic rock just as most other utensils in the room, the black and white again offset by golds and some hints of sky-blue. It isn’t quite as large of a space as the House provides, but the luxury is there.

I sip out of his grasp and head for the tap, memory continuing to serve me well as I get the bath running, the steaming hot waters of the underground hot springs falling like a mini waterfalls from the carved outlets in the wall, slowly filling the tub. I hear Azriel begin to unstrap is weapons and slip out of his leathers, and I decide that the bath will handle itself for the time being and join him, tugging lose the straps and letting my weapons rest on the nearby stool along with his.

My hands work to unbind my braid while Azriel slips out of his tight leather top, and I can’t help but watch him in the mirror as he does, watch the moments of his muscles beneath his skin, the way his tattoos seem to ripple like the shadows that trail him, and how gorgeous he is in general.

Much like he can’t really be sneaky around me, my gaze does not pass him, and once he’s free of his top and the garment has been thrown to the floor, his faint knowing grin is evident on his lips. I roll my eyes and keep sorting out my hair, letting the pale strands fall in waves down my back one section at a time.

As I work, Azriel decides to help me undress, his hands efficiently undoing the straps that keep the back-flaps in place, and as my hands finish their work on my hair, his hands slip under and help slide the top off of me, his rough hands a welcome guest along my skin.

My lack of a breast-band does not escape the male, and while my hands slip down to work off my pants, his find their way up and around to my chest, his low rumble full of contentment as he nuzzles into the crook of my neck, hands squeezing just a fraction.

I’m not as impressively built as Mor in that regard, not at all. But with my muscles returning to strength, other aspects of me make up for my lack of chest action.

Azriel doesn’t care though, clearly.

I could be completely flat and I still don’t think he’d care.

“Were we having a bath, or are we just going to stand here?” I ask as I slowly slip my pants down my thighs, his hold of me preventing the act to an extent.

“The bath’s not full” He murmurs, lips trailing the bit of burnt skin clawing up my neck, and I cast the bath a glance in answer, finding his statement to be true indeed.

“And we’re not undressed yet” He growls softly, then lets me go, stepping back to deal with his own pants.

I leave my undergarments on, as we always do when we bathe, lest we might… get carried away, and by the time Azriel’s done undressing into his undershorts as well, the bath is full enough and I move to shut off the waters. That leaning forward puts me on clear display for him, I don’t particularly mind. If anything, it’s amusing to feel that mixture of annoyance and longing from him, to know I’m tormenting him by merely existing.

I’m such a kind mate.

Wordlessly, I slip into the tub, and as I settle down, Azriel comes to join me, seating himself on the opposite end, because as much as being snuggled close in the hot waters is appealing, some distance is often… necessary, for our sanity.

He’s not further than my leg can reach though, and a couple scoots and some wading though the waters will bring me right over.

Leaning my head back against the rounded edge of the tub, I close my eyes and sigh, the hot waters having an instantly soothing effect on my overworked muscles.

“This place is…” He trails off, seems to look for words. I give him time. “Nice” I suppose that’s a way to put it.

“I was never appalled aesthetically, just… I don’t belong here” He hums, trails his foot along mine beneath the waters.

“Humans have truly coexisted here for centuries” He seems in awe.

“Miryam’s lineage and position unites the people here, in a way. Conflict’s been rare, but it happens” Neither of us have reached for the soaps, and neither seem in a hurry to get on with it.

“What kind of conflicts?”

“Petty quarrels between faeries who think themselves superior. There are a couple scumbags born every generation or so. It has rarely ended in true violence because I sought out the shits before they could stir any real problems, and Drakon had them dealt with”

“Dealt with?”

“A couple weeks with your wings bound and magic stifled helps bring perspective into a Fae’s life, and grants a clearer appreciation for human resilience” Azriel hums in contemplation.

“Who finds them now?” I pause, consider.

“I don’t know… Though I’m sure he has his ways, now that I’m out of the picture” There’s a length of silence, only disturbed by the gentle stir of the water, and while most find silence daunting, unnerving, silence with Azriel is seldom anything but calm.

“Will you be okay?” He asks eventually, his voice a soft murmur, his foot trailing up my calf.

“Yes” I breathe. “I’ll be fine”


	8. The Vault

Lunch is calm and comfortable in our gifted common room, the food as spicy as I recall, though Azriel doesn’t seem to notice at all, not to any surprise of mine. But he likes it, something I note with gentle interest, his plate scraped clean quicker than usual.

Dressed in our leathers once more, the clothes cleaned and dried with the help of my own power, we’re taken to the throne hall, to meet with Drakon and Miryam and see this Vault of theirs.

I can figure where it is, but the place was never named as such before, which leads me to believe it’s been refurnished.

Miryam is the one to address us once we arrive, the female dressed in similar flying leathers as the female guards, though hers more regal. She also lacks wings, of course.

“I hope the rooms were to your taste” I wonder if she had a hand in the existence of that pianoforte.

“They were fine” I assure her calmly, though Azriel and I never took a peek into the bedroom, our bath lasting too long and lunch keeping us bound to the common room. Miryam smiles at me, but I can’t quite find it in me to smile back, something about this palace and place and situation laying a heaviness over my mind. Miryam doesn’t look offended, merely concerned.

“The Vault is a flight away, I hope you’re both recovered enough to manage” I make a point to ignore Drakon’s pointed look my way, to the wings he knows were a mangled mess just over a month ago.

“We’ll be fine” Azriel answers for me.

“Then come along” Drakon assumes his path towards the exit, guiding us with him and Miryam, along with the dual guards. He brings us to a nearby balcony and calmly gathers his mate in his arms, ready to take off, and both Azriel and I spread our wings to show we’re ready, which quickly brings us into the sky, the wind carrying us towards the slumbering volcano in the center of the island, our path bringing us over the city settled into the dark cliffs, layered and built out of that same dark stone, and some houses carved into the rock itself.

It’s not a place where wingless people should thrive, the layered city quite the pain to traverse on foot, but most humans have a winged friend to help them, or sheer determination keeping them moving along those cobble-paved roads bellow.

The stationed guards are always happy to help as well. I’ve sometimes wondered whether that’s their real purpose down there, honestly, aside from keeping the peace.

Mercifully, we don’t fly past any locals on our way to the volcano, and the only other signs of life as we reach the base of the vast mountain—landing before the gaping maw of a cave—are the guards posted by the entrance, and they only nod as we pass, entering the dimly lit cavern.

Azriel sticks close as we descend deeper and deeper into the earth, the air growing thicker and hotter. By the time we reach what looks to be a heavily warded steel door, the mist is thick in the air, and as that door is opened, the space beyond is revealed.

Only the occasional faelight illuminates the heavily fortified vault, the walls' tick steel laced with even thicker wards, all to keep the thing stood on that chiseled podium contained.

The Cauldron, slumbering under the heavy weight of the wards binding it, no sign of the partially conscious _thing_ I recall slithering in the dark. Like this, it looks more like a glorified bathtub, it’s water a still blackness that consumes all light.

And to think such terrible light erupted from this blackness. However, what most forget is that where there is darkness it does not necessarily mean there’s no light. Because darkness is the absorption of light, lack of radiance, which is why my eyes become voids when I look into the vastness of the world. Because no light reflects in them anymore. It’s only absorbed.

A duality, as the Book once said. Shadows and light. One cannot be without the other.

It begs the question, if some kinds of darkness are the absorption of light and not the lack of light, could that darkness be bent to my will? Could I see into the dark so long as the dark is that of absorption?

Questions I should debate with Amren, theories I should test once we return. Perhaps she won’t skin me for not making progress on my beams, then.

“It has not stirred once since we brought it here” Drakon informs us both. “It’s almost as if it’s… at peace”

“It was said to have dwelled here for a time, was it not?” I asks, granting me both of the royals’ attention. “Perhaps it feels at home” Contemplation moves behind their eyes.

“Perhaps… Has the other High Lords of Prythian questioned it’s disappearance?” Azriel and I shake our heads.

“Not openly” Azriel states, his eyes still scanning the vault walls, the roof. “All the Courts are focused on rebuilding, including our own” Drakon nods, his eyes thoughtful.

“I assume that’s why Rhysand couldn’t come for a visit” Miryam states more than asks. “You’re both just as welcomed, of course” She quickly adds, her eyes landing on me. “You… Your apartment is still your own here, Estelle. It’s been left untouched since your departure” I can’t find the words to say to that.

“It will remain yours until you say otherwise” Drakon adds, and I decide to just nod.


	9. Familiarity

With everything in order regarding the Cauldron, We're left to do as we please until dinner tonight, which we will attend together with Drakon’s and Miryam, possibly their family, a fact I’m thrilled about. But it’s hours until then, so I decide to bring Azriel out into the city once we’ve dressed a tad more casually.

We still stick out with our dark clothing, but I don’t allow myself to care about how out of place we look as I walk with him, pointing out special buildings and telling their stories. Azriel listens with focus and interest.

As we stroll through what I’d call the shopping district—the roads lined with shops of all kinds, varying from cafes to clothing shops—I can no longer ignore the fact that we’re being watched. Azriel specifically.

I’m not surprised, but that doesn’t rule out the fact that their appreciative and intrigued gazes cast his way annoy me, and despite my better judgment, I find myself glaring at every female who happens to look our way a _little_ too long. I keep it up until Azriel chuckles beside me, and my focus shifts over to him.

“You’re scaring the locals” I roll my eyes and return my focus ahead of us, only to find another pair of ogling eyes and my brows crinkle into a glare again. He chuckles some more, his hand landing at my back. “You know you’re the only one I want” He murmurs, leaning down close to my ear, brushing the lightest kiss to the shell of it. I force my features to soften, to just breathe.

Azriel’s gaze wanders as he straightens, and I follow his line of sight, watch him take in the dark, stone buildings with a gentle sense of awe.

“Should we get something small to eat?” He asks, eyes settling on one of the many cafés in the area.

“That sounds nice” I mumble, honestly just happy if we get out of the open right now. I think he knows that.

We head inside, order ourselves a small pastry each and some water, then have a seat by one of the windows—the only free seating we could find—my focus set on the chocolate pastry on my own plate as I stab my spoon into it and have a bite. Azriel continues to watch me warily, even as he digs into his own muffin.

“One word, Estelle” He reminds me, and my jaw clenches, a part of me tempted to accept the offer, but another finding it pathetic of me, very much so.

“I’m fine, this is all just… I don’t like how they look at you” And people are still looking, something I’m sure Azriel’s keenly aware of considering his shadows are rather thickly laced along his being. “It unnerves me” He gives me a soft, understanding smile.

“Now you know how I feel when males look at you” I hum, stabbing my pastry again and stuffing it in my mouth. “We’ll only stay here until tomorrow morning, don’t worry” I hum again, reaching for some water and sipping down my bite, then I set it down and look at him.

“They kept my apartment” I state, and his head tilts to the side just a fraction. “I… I think I want to go there, see it” I don’t know why, but… I just want to see if it’s truly how I left it.

“We have time, of course we can go” I nod, returning my gaze to my plate.

“I… We can go to the springs tonight, if you’d like” I continue, stuffing another spoonful of chocolate goodness in my mouth.

“If you’re not tired”

“You can’t be too tired for hot springs” I mumble, a soft grin spreading onto my lips as I lift my gaze to his. He smiles too.

~O~

I regret the decision to come here the moment we’re stood before the apartment building, but even so, I grasp Azriel’s hand and step inside, climbing the familiar set of stairs one at a time as I guide us up to the top floor, to the door still inscribed with my name on it.

“Dreever?” Azriel asks, noting the last name inscribed into the golden name rag.

“Never call me that” I mumble, placing my hand on the bulb handle and letting the magic lock sense me, and unlock the door.

“Stella it is” He concludes, and I smile at the nickname, which really doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it’s stuck with him.

Pushing the door open, I’m met with stale air and dust, and I take a moment to steady myself before I take that step into the foyer, letting my eyes scan the empty walls leading to the open space of my living room and kitchen, the doors on the left leading to my old bedroom, and the one on the right to the bathroom.

It looks just how I remember.

“You lived here?” Azriel questions as we reach the living room, the space furnished but… empty somehow, lacking decoration and trinkets to make it a home. Only the piano adds some character.

“Lived can be debated” I mumble, stepping over to that ancient piano, running my hand over the dusty lid. How many nights did I spend before this thing? Pouring my pain and emptiness into the music? Too many. ”I _existed_ here for around five hundred years” I turn to look at him, still stood in the center of the room, eyes taking in the space, the lack of things in it. “I don’t really want to linger…” I step closer, right into the arms he spread out in silent invitation, letting him pull me in against his chest. “I just wanted to see if it was true… if it’s truly stayed untouched”

“Has it?” I nod into his chest.

“No one’s been in here for over a decade” I confirm. “I… I want to leave, go back outside” Because this apartment… There’s a heaviness in the air here, heavier than in the palace and outside in the city. This is where I spent my days of nothingness, and I feel like that nothingness is sinking right back into my bones by the second, weighing me down further and further.

Azriel doesn’t question it, unwraps me from his arms and lets one linger around my waist as he guides us both to the exit. I lock the door behind us, vowing it will be the last time I’m here—that I’ll sell this cursed place and never set foot in there again—then we descend the stairs and head for the street again, to go back to the palace, I think.

But we hardly make it out the door before a Seraphim female intercepts our path, and I freeze in place, every muscle in my body locking up. Even after an age apart, I recognize that chestnut hair, those dark honey eyes, that golden tan and those faintly beige wings. What seals the deal is the scent.

She stares back at me with the same shock as I stare back at her.

Azriel warily looks between the two of us, but then I grasp his arm and push the words out my throat.

“Take us to the palace” The words are choked and strained. Azriel’s shadows begin to swirl, ready to spirit us away, but the female before me regains her senses and moves, reaches out and grabs my arm. I want to tear out of her grip, push her away, but I can’t move.

Of course she’d know, _of course_.

“Estelle _wait_ ” She demands, her voice even and strict.

“Let me go” I return coldly, but she does not yield. I watch the Siphons on the back of Azriel’s hands begin to flicker in warning and his wings flaring behind me.

“You’ve been gone for over a _decade_ , what happened to you? Why are you back? Who…” Her eyes drift to Azriel, grow weary. I can’t do this, not here, not now.

“It’s none of your concern”

“I’m your _sister_ ”

“That means _nothing_ to me” I snap, letting go of Azriel’s arm and ripping myself out of hers, my back straight and defiant. “And you know _exactly_ why that is” She takes a step back.

“We didn’t abandon you” She says softly, her eyes pleading.

“You just left me and never came back” I take a step after her, the cold ice of rage locking over my senses, my reason. I hear the sound of steps trailing mine. “I’d call that _abandoning_ someone, _Diana_ ”

“ _I_ came back” Her spine straightens. “And when I did you _damned me to hell_ ” My fists clench, but I stay where I’m stood, don’t move a muscle.

“It took you _a hundred years_ to _come back_ , what did you _think_ I’d do? Welcome you with open arms?” Her jaw tenses, eyes withdraw and dull with… guilt.

A hand lands at my shoulder, warm and comforting and steadying, thawing the ice just a fraction, enough to let my fists unbind, my breathing even out.

“Why are you here” I demand, and Diana seems to steady herself as well, will herself to calm.

“I was notified that your door had been opened, I came to see why” My brow crinkles faintly.

“Why were you notified?”

“Someone had to keep tabs of the place while you were… gone” I hold her honey gaze. “Where were you?” I hold back the urge to sneer.

“Trapped in Hybern’s dungeon” the grip of my shoulder tightens a fraction, and the rich tan of my sister pales. “I got out around five months ago” Her eyes drift to Azriel, still a steadying presence at my side. My lips twitch into a snarl at the attention, and her eyes quickly snap back to me. “I’m here on emissary work on the behalf of the Night Court”

“What…?”

“I don’t work for Drakon anymore” There’s no warmth to my voice, no nothing. Just harsh truth. “I don’t live here anymore. Sell my apartment and keep the gold, I don’t care, just get rid of that tomb”

“You don’t… But you… You live in the Night Court now? In Prythian?”

“Yes” Her eyes drift to Azriel again, to his wings still slightly flared behind him. Then I watch them hone on on something else. The feather weaved into his hair.

“So _you’ve_ abandoned _us_ now” She states coldly, her eyes returning to mine. “Without a word” I swallow down the lump in my throat, strangle the little voice in my head that says she’s right. I can’t deal with that voice right now.

“I don’t owe you a _word_ ” She doesn’t blanch, or flinch. “I don’t owe you anything”

“We saved you” She states calmly, though her eyes are glossier in the afternoon sun than previously. “You may not see it, but we did. You were fading before our eyes, Estelle. We did what we had to do” I hate that she’s right. That somehow, she’s right. But she’s also wrong.

“You didn’t save me” I begin coldly. “I’ve been fading for the past five hundred years. All you lot did was drag out the process” And I… I should be grateful for that, I…

They left me. They left me in that hell of an academy all by myself and never came back. I don’t care for their reasoning, I don’t _care_ if guilt made them stay away. Leaving me in the hands of those overseers might have _saved_ me from myself, but it also broke something in me.

It broke something vital and I don’t think it’s truly healed yet. Even with Azriel at my side, slowly mending the cracks within my soul, it has not healed, not truly.

“I’m sorry we didn’t try harder—to reach out—but you never reached back” A cold so freezing it hurts settles inside me.

“ _You_ were the ones who left _me_ , why would I _want_ to reach out? Why would I want _anything_ to do with you?” She stares at me, eyes blank.

“And _that’s_ why you’ll _always_ end up alone” Her eyes flick to Azriel once, but then, without another word, she spreads her wings and takes to the skies.

I only stare at the spot she’d stood at, stare and stare as her words ring in my head, throw jab after jab into the ice I’ve encased myself in, then I reach my hand out to Azriel, and he takes it without another word.

“Palace” I state coldly, and the shadows consume and take us away, materializing us in the common room in a heartbeat, and that ice splinters and crumbles like a thawing iceberg.

And thus comes the tears, the suffocating sobs and the shuddering quakes of my body as everything just crumbles, as pain and grief I’ve long kept behind lock and key escape and rip into my body, my mind.

As Azriel gathers me in his arms, I cling to him as if he were life itself, and as he lays us both down on the soft sprawl of our borrowed bed, I only weep and weep and weep into the soft fabric of his shirt, his wings folding around me like a cocoon of comfort and safety as his hand slowly works out the weaving of my braid, eventually running that scarred hand through the strands in an effort to soothe as well.

We stay there, for how long is unclear, but we stay, Azriel whispering sweet comforts his shadows mirror in tone, and ever so slowly, my weeping dwindles into sniffles and shaky breaths.

And I _know_ what she said is true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A part of me really wants to just give you guys a bunch of chapters a day, but if I do that, I might not have written enough to post anything on another day, so I'd rather give you a couple a day.
> 
> And yeah, Estelle's family.


	10. Wounds

We attend dinner, but I’m not really there. Azriel handles the talking fine enough on his own, so it’s not a huge issue, but I know our two hosts watch me with wariness and concern as I poke at my plate more so than eat. None of their children are present tonight, I absently note.

I don’t have appetite, don’t have much of anything really. Just this heavy weight crushing down on me, making every breath a burden, and every motion a strain. I haven't felt like this since Azriel left me on the roof, haven’t felt this… destroyed since his rejection.

The worst thing is that Diana’s right.

My unwillingness to reach out to people was the reason I ended up alone before, with Jaxon the one exception. The same could have happened with Azriel, had I not realized what I was doing and vowed to do better, and my refusal to do the same with my family… it’s wrong, I know it is, but this has been going on for centuries, and while Diana has _tried_ to reach out as she claimed, I’ve only ever pushed them away in my anger and pain.

How am I supposed to make up for that? How do I mend that kind of rift?

The frigid nothingness lingers in me after dinner, and as we retreat to the privacy of our rooms, Azriel’s worry begins to show more clearly through his eyes. It shows verbally once I ask if we should go to the hot springs, my voice monotone and empty.

He doesn’t outright refuse, but his question whether I wouldn’t rather sleep is telling enough, but true to my word earlier, I answer that one can never be too tired for hot springs.

And so we fly, soaring over the city draped in the golden light of dusk, buzzing with life even now. It’s a sharp contrast to the silent emptiness in my head, only ever broken by the occasional condescending thought and mental scolding.

Azriel never breaks the silence, not even as we circle the volcano and land on the rocky ground at it’s western edge, littered with pools of steaming waters, draping the chilly autumn air with thick fog. I guide him away from those open springs though, hold his hand and guide him through the mist towards a cavern full of similar pools, the place lit up by dim faelight placed in lanterns along the rims of the ponds. I let them guide me to the innermost series of ponds, where I know few will bother to go and thus won’t disturb us, and as we reach the edge of my favored pond, I let go of Azriel’s hand and begin to undress.

He joins me, and we both discard our quickly dampening clothes on the stone at our feet until nothing say our underpants remain.

Even so, I’m left staring at the waters, a milky bluish-white before me, and I practically forget that Azriel’s here with me until his hand reaches out for my own and my eyes shift over.

The silence in my head is so thick that I can’t even hear his heartbeat.

He takes the first step down into the milky blue, his hold of my hand slowly guiding me down with him, and as we both sink down into the warmth, Azriel gathers me in his arms and seats me in his lap as he sits down on a submerged bit of rock.

I keep my arms resting around his neck, my legs straddling either side of him, my body closely pressed against his, but despite our close proximity, everything is just… It’s like a void has been torn open in my mind and I’ve fallen into it’s depth, gotten lost in the vast emptiness.

He tugs on the bond, ever so faintly, and my eyes snap to his, yet I don’t react further. His worry is devastatingly clear in those hazel eyes of his.

His hand reaches up to my cheek, brushes along it before he cups it, willing my gaze to remain set on him.

“Talk to me” A soft plea, so quiet his lips hardly move.

_This is why you’ll always end up alone_.

If I don’t reach back, people eventually stop reaching out.

“I was angry, when they left me at the academy. Hurt” My voice is hoarse from disuse, from hours of crying I can hardly remember anymore, my memory skewed. “They left me, and maybe they planned to come back for me, but the War happened, and only once we’d settled on Cretea did Diana reach out to me” I clear my throat, try to clear that roughness away. “I’d spent years alone by then, after Jaxon passed, and I… Seeing her dug up all that rage and pain, reminded me that while I was the problematic child who could never do anything right, couldn’t be normal, she was perfect. So I told her to go to hell” Azriel’s thumb does a sweep along my cheek. “I think… I think their initial abandonment, however good their intentions, broke something in me, birthed this… Dread… I couldn’t accept them back into my life only for them to remember why they left me in the first place and leave me again” That bleakness grows deeper in his eyes, and his hand at my cheek slips down to my shoulder, as if a weight of his own comes and pushes him down.

It takes me a moment to realize the reason.

“Succumbing to that fear was a mistake” I continue, slipping my hands up to his cheeks. “I know that. She’s right, it’s the reason I ended up alone here, it’s the reason I… The reason I almost didn’t dare to get close to you again, after you left me there, but I realized my mistake quickly, saw my shortcoming and I… I did something about it” I lean down my brow against his. “I forgave you long ago, Azriel. Amren helped me see your reasons, and I made sure to mend the wound before it festered, but… My family… That wound is so old and festered that I don’t think I… I don’t know if I can heal it” Azriel’s eyes close, and his chest heaves as he takes a long, deep breath.

“I’m sorry…” He breathes.

“I know, it’s okay” I lean in and brush a kiss to his lips. “I love you” I murmur, my heart thumping with the truth of it, thumping life back into my veins at the thought of him, our future. “We can’t dwell on past mistakes and regrets… We can’t change the past”

“Only shape the future…” He breathes, his eyes slipping open to meet mine again. As I hold his gaze, I see my own hypocrisy clear as day.

“When do we leave tomorrow” Azriel blinks.

“Dawn” I nod slowly, eyes drifting down as I think.

“Can we postpone it a couple hours?” I ask carefully, my hesitance clear in my voice, but the truth of what I must do undeniable, however terrifying it is.

“We can” He confirms, his hand slipping up to hold my jaw, tipping my head to face him again.

He knows exactly what I aim to do, I can tell, and glimmering in his eyes is what looks like… pride, and a promise. That he’ll be with me, now and forever. 

I'll never be alone again.


	11. Reach out

That night, I search rather than sleep. In the dim light of the city, I try my best to find what I need to find, peaking through every window of every house that the limited light allows. By the time dawn comes and we say our goodbyes to Drakon and Miryam over breakfast, I know where I must go.

The sentries tasked to bring us out to the edge of the wards only nod when I ask them to wait while we run one last errand in the city, and as I fly for that dark, stone house along the outskirts of town, Azriel sticks close to my side. A silent, comforting presence.

We land on the paved path before the small yard, and I hesitate, my muscles locking up as I behold the little housing in the light of day. But it’s the occupants that frighten me the most, and my temper that unnerves me to my core.

I can’t get angry, not now.

So I work to numb everything instead, deeming it better to handle this as I would any battle, and thus not lash out in anger. And only once I feel nothing, my walls up tight, do I take the steps up to that brown door.

And I knock, step back a couple paces, then force myself to stay put once I hear shuffling beyond it, approaching to open. I force myself to face this.

A male opens the door, a male sporting the same honey eyes as Diana, and the same chestnut hair, tanned skin and beige wings.

My father.

His eyes widen as he takes me in, his face stuck in a state of shock, perhaps even fear.

“E-Estelle?” Disbelief lines his voice, but there’s not really a doubt in his mind. Only his daughter holds these particular features, and he knows it. The fact that I’m _here_ , on his porch, is the real wonder.

“I’m leaving Cretea” I’m not sure how I manage to form the words. “Moving to Prythian, the Night Court” I gulp. “I thought you deserved to know that” My father’s eyes blink rapidly, as if he believes this to be some mirage, illusion.

“Has Drakon- has he approved this?” I nod slowly.

“I no longer work for Drakon, there’s nothing for him to approve” The forced numbness is splintering, but holding on. “I’m moving to live with my… my mate” It feels like oversharing, but I will not hold back now, not that I’m here.

Father’s eyes drift to Azriel, stood a couple steps behind me, ready to back me up should anything happen, but letting me handle this until then. He gives him a long, assessing gaze, evaluating, and just like most find Azriel’s deathly stillness threatening, freighting, father is not an exception, his tan blanching a shade or two.

“Your… mate”

“Yes” I confirm, and as father’s honey eyes return to mine, that initial unease has shifted into something else, something pained, but also… relieved?

“You were always meant for something greater than we could offer, than Drakon could offer… If the Night Court holds what you’ve always sought, go, and don’t look back” I nod, though the act is jagged, strained.

“I might… return for work here, on High Lord Rhysand’s behalf… I might say hi” I will force myself to try, at least. “Immortality is too short to spend time fixating on past wrongs” The ghost of a smile tugs onto my father’s lips.

“You’re right about that, truly” I can’t return the smile, can’t risk lowering the walls.

“I need to go, tell mother I was here, and Diana” I wonder if she’s told them about her run-in with me yesterday. I take a step back, then realize there’s one more thing I need to have said. “I told Drakon to give you the rights to my apartment” Father’s eyes widen a fraction. “Sell it, renovate and rent it, burn it to the ground. I don’t care. Just take it off my hands” My voice wavers at the end, and I clamp my jaw shut to keep it together a moment longer.

I feel a gentle, loving brush along the bond then, soothing and calming, but I can’t risk casting the male a smile, can only give a gentle caress of my own.

“May the light guide you” I state, stepping off of the porch and spreading my wings wide, taking to the sky without so much as a word, or a glance in Azriels direction, only a soft tug for him to come along.

He lingers on the ground as I soar swiftly into the open blue sky, my wings burning with the strain of each flap, but the pain is welcomed in this numbness, a welcomed outlet.

Those sentries find me, linger in the air with me as we wait for Azriel to catch up, his shape a blurry bit of black that blends together with the dark houses bellow, and once he reaches us—his eyes holding this strange mix of pride and purpose and something else I can’t place—we follow the sentries as the lead us to the edge of the wards, to let us return to Velaris. Return home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll get three chapters today cause I realized they were all pretty short


	12. Varying Darkness

“So everything's as it should? The Cauldron’s dormant?” Rhys asks, having skimmed through the Report Azriel wrote out the night before, while I was drifting to other reaches of the dim world.

“As it stands, yes” Azriel confirms. “Drakon will send word, should anything change” Rhys nods and looks back down at his report.

“Continue on as usual then, I suppose. Keep an eye on the Courts, observe the borders, listen for trouble” Azriel and I both nod. Rhys eyes shift to me, to the blank face that rivals Azriel’s in sheer cold.

I still haven’t dared tear those walls down, have not dared to face what lies behind them, even if I used flying as a means to vent, or perhaps _distract_ is more of a suiting word.

“Amren expects you in her apartment, I assume you know why” I nod, and he waves a hand in calm dismissal. I look to Azriel, meet his guarded eyes and know he’s concerned, and while I can’t bring myself to smile, to emote at all, I give the bond a gentle stroke before bending out into the world, spearing for Amren’s apartment.

I don’t bother with the door, considering I’m expected, instead manifesting inside just past the door, finding Amren in her usual spot on the rug, reading a dusty old tome thicker than a brick, and probably heavier.

Her eyes don’t even lift as I step deeper into the room.

“Tell me about the Cauldron” She demands as I sit down on the spot opposite of her, my usual, I suppose.

“It was calm, slumbering” I answer with that neutral indifference.

“And the Island will house it properly? The wards hold?”

“I couldn’t feel it’s presence, even as I stood beside it. I believe so” She nods, seems to mark the page, then set the book down, those steady silver eyes studying me, taking in the nothingness I portray.

“What’s happened with you” She demands, and I merely hold her gaze.

“I thought of something, stood before the Cauldron” I say instead, ignoring her inquiry. “About darkness” A dark brow of hers raises, a brow darkened by the absorption of light rater than lack of light. “Darkness can be two things: Either the lack of light as a whole, or the complete consumption of it” Amren’s eyes grow intrigued rather than annoyed by my evasion of her question. “In theory, that means some darkness holds light, which should mean I can bend it to my will, just like I can bend light into darkness in illusions by stopping radiance”

“You mean that you could bend light out of darkness?”

“Why not? Darkness and light are inherently intertwined, in some cases they’re one and the same, why shouldn’t I be able to bend light out of darkness?” Amren looks thoughtful for a moment. Then she discards her tome and stands.

“We need black paint”

~O~

I can’t fly her up to the House of wind, but the town house garden will do fine for now, and is a rather convenient setting considering Feyre has a lot of black paint to borrow. So we sit down by one of the wrought-iron sitting areas, that vile of inky black liquid set on the table between us, its lack of color or light similar to that of the Cauldron, but not quite as vastly dark, some light reflecting off of it’s surface.

The rest is being absorbed, stored in the paint, and in theory primed for bending.

“What do you feel, if you reach for the paint” I close my eyes and focus on the light around me, on the light that hits the paint and does not return from the substance. I nudge it, prod, but don’t tug just yet.

“It feels normal, but stagnant, like the light is trapped” She hums in silent contemplation.

“If you were to pull the light out of the liquid, what would happen?”

“Once I’d pull it all out, it would go invisible” It’s the same principle as casting illusions.

“But before then, what happens to the color” Good question. I open my eyes and meet her gaze.

“Should I try and see?” She nods, and I go back in, reaching out to that stored bit of light and tug, slowly, carefully. It yields. Whatever binds the light to the substance yields to my will, and once I have a decent grasp of this pulling, I open my eyes to witness what happens.

The ink slowly gets brighter, grows a brighter and brighter shade of gray, until finally, it turns white. Then nothing. The vile empty, but not actually.

Amren and I both watch the outcome in silent intrigue.

“Let the light back in” And so I do, let all the light free, and the liquid in the vile returns to black. “That’s interesting… This could be very useful if we figure out how to isolate the deadly aspects of light. We could store extra wells of it in absorbent materials to further extend your power” Her eyes flick up to me. “Have you made any progress on that?” I shake my head, and her disappointment is clear.

“I thought this might make up for it” She looks back down at the vile of paint.

“I suppose it’s _something_ ” A thought flickers in her eyes. “Is Rhysand’s darkness lack of light, or absorbent darkness?” Another good question.

“He _does_ make stars sometimes, maybe both” She hums, her face thoughtful.

“I’ll have to think about a few things, what materials would be best to use for such wells… Give me a week, and I expect progress from you within that time, no more slacking” I nod, and the female stands.

“Should I bend you home” I offer calmly. She shakes her head, dark hair bobbing.

“I need to think” Walk and think, alright.

“Have fun” She snorts dryly and leaves me to myself.

Leaning back, I stretch my sore wings and back and neck, spreading the former out wide behind me, then fold them back in with a sigh, straighten. Shadows soon take shape in the chair before me, braving direct sunlight to let their master manifest in the chair before they slip back into the shade, whispering soft greetings before parting.

His eyes say it all, tell me all about his worry regarding my walls, and I let out a soft sigh.

“I’m fine, Azriel” He doesn’t look convinced, not one bit.

“I can feel it, what you’re hiding behind those walls” I suppose the bond runs through a crack in that wall, and thus lets things pass.

“Could you tell me, so I’m not caught by surprise once I let them down” Because I don’t feel a thing, there’s only numb calm, and some hints of gentle interest lingering from my session with Amren, however brief it was.

“We should head to the House” I assume it’s bad, then.

“Okay”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're approaching happier times, great.


	13. Appearances

I expected bad to mean a crying mess, but it was none of that. There was only anger, at myself, and Azriel let me get it out through sparring at the roof of the House for hours. Then, as we both soaked in a bath together to primp for tonight's dinner at the town house, Azriel took his sweet time making sure every piece of my body was treated with the utmost care, his hands grazing every surface of skin with a lather of soothing soap, and doing so thoroughly.

By the time we’re dressed for dinner, I feel... I _feel_ , which is a considerable upgrade from the cold emptiness I dove into, and what I feel isn’t complete worthlessness and self loathing, at least. Azriel made sure to ward off those particular feelings by showing me how much worth I hold to him, by being there and caring for me.

I will never allow myself to take him for granted, ever.

Standing before the mirror I give myself a calm assessment, deeming myself fine enough in these lose dark pants and this white blouse honed by a brown leather corset that’s really just a thick waist-belt, but it adds some _flare_ , I suppose. It goes well with the high leather boots, at least. My hair is braided back as usual, resting loosely down my spine, and my face is as unpainted as always. I can’t bother with make-up, if there’s a blemish too obvious, I just illusion it away if I can. Should I wish to enhance any features like that, I can do the same thing.

It’s not reliable, of course, but as long as I’m in a lit room, the possibilities are endless.

Just because I can, and Azriel’s still off in the office to do some last minute filing, I let the light bouncing off of me shift and bend, changing my hair into a deep chestnut, my skin to a golden tan, my eyes to a honey brown. My features and shapes remain the same though, remain my own.

I resemble Diana to an extent, I suppose, and father, but my characteristics are more derived from my mother, I know that. I have her nose, have her more edged features, her brighter wings. Diana got her curves, but while I’m still probably considered short, I’m still taller than her, have a limber body, more agile and swift. That it came with the lack of outstanding breasts doesn’t really matter when I’ve got the ass to make up for it, and the hips, slim waist, slightly wider shoulders and generally a more solid and stable build than her.

Not that it matters, appearance has never really mattered to me, but I do make the observations, it’s in my nature at this point, to see these details.

Seeing her again yesterday reminded me of these little things, and other things along with them.

The door clicks open—which is honestly surprising considering it’s Azriel stepping through it—and the male in question silently slips inside, eyes landing on me where I’m stood before the mirror, taking in my illusioned self.

His head tilts to the side, shadows swirling, aiming to answer their master’s confusion.

“This is what I would have looked like, had the light never altered me” I state calmly as Azriel approaches, his steps near silent. He doesn’t say a word until he’s got me tucked back against his chest, arms loosely draped around my waist as he looks over my shoulder into the mirror, taking in the sight. “Something like this, at least” Mother and father’s coloration only differs in one department. Mother’s eyes, which are blue, something that’s rare amongst our people, but growing more common now in our isolation.

Azriel seems to consider, a muscle in his jaw fluttering softly as he searches for words.

“Why have you changed into it?” He eventually asks, eyes flicking down to meet mine through the mirror.

“Seeing Diana again… Father… It just made me curious, what it’d been like, had I never been a Lightseer, never been altered” His grip of me tightens just a fraction.

“You wouldn’t have come here, had you not” I reach down and rest my hands above his own. “You wouldn’t be _you_ , had you not” A small smile slips onto my lips, and Az presses a kiss to my temple, just above my brow. “Please change back” He murmurs against my skin, his tone softly pleading. My smile widens into a gentle grin.

“Don’t tell me you’re like _Cassian”_ He chuckles faintly.

“No, but I prefer your pale self over any stolen shape” My grin brightens into a smile. “You’re beautiful just the way you are, there’s nothing you should feel the need to change” I grip his scarred hands a little tighter, brush my thumb along the rough skin.

“The same applies to you” I murmur, letting my illusion fall and return me to my pale self. I see warmth bloom in his eyes, full of appreciation and undiluted emotion.

Tipping back my head, shifting it to face him, I reach up my hand to grasp his cheek and bend him down to me, willing his lips down to mine, and he gladly accept the gentle union, loosens his grip of me and lets me turn in his arms, lets my arms slip up around his neck as I hold him close, just as he holds me close.

It pains me, but I tear my lips away before it can go further, well aware that we’re expected in the town house within the next ten minutes or so, at the least, and Azriel’s sigh seems to hint that he knows that, and is similarly pained by the fact.

“Let’s go spend time with our family” I mumble, my smile real and genuine as I look up at him, glad to have this family with him, even if we sometimes wish we could hide away from them all for days just to be us.

Once our house gets sorted, we’ll get that privacy. Not that the House is bad, it’s very convenient and helpful with it’s enchantments, but it still doesn’t feel like a home.

“Let’s” He says, shifting us to the balcony in a flurry of shadow before flying down to the city with me.


	14. Scheming

“We’ve been invited to the Autumn Equinox Ball in the Day Court” Rhys announces over dinner, holding the letter of invitation in his hands.

“It’s been what? Two months since the war and Helion’s already throwing a party?” Cassian questions across the table. “I shouldn’t be surprised” He leans back in his seat.

“No male loves revelry more than Helion” Rhys states, setting aside the letter, which Feyre picks up to look through herself.

“We’re all going, right?” There’s clear excitement in Mor’s voice, but dampened a fraction.

“Of course we’re going” Rhys confirms, and Mor starts squealing, prompting Amren to put a hand over her ear and everyone else to cringe. Her eyes settle on me, a scheming smirk spreading across her lips.

“We’re busting out the fancy dresses, Elle” Oh Mother.

“I don’t think I should attend, Balls and I don’t usually go well together” I mumble, picking at my plate.

“Hear that Az?” Cassian nudges his brother, and Az proceeds to elbow him in the ribs. Cassian just laughs.

“Of course you’re attending!” Mor exclaims, ignoring the Illyrians seated to my left. “We’re all going” Her eyes drift to Amren, who shrugs, indifferent. She looks to Rhys then, and he shrugs similarly.

“If she doesn’t wish to go, she doesn’t have to” His violet gaze shifts to me. “We’d love if you did, though” I hold those violet eyes for a moment, then shift my gaze to Azriel. There only calm encouragement in his eyes.

I suppose… I suppose going to a Ball with Azriel would be… Fun.

I look back at Mor, meet her excited eyes.

“I’ll think about it, we can… Look at dresses in the meantime” She squeals again, clasping her hands.

“Perfect, how about tomorrow after lunch?” My eyes slip to Azriel again.

We have a little meeting with the construction workers after lunch, to go over the plans for the interior, but technically… I don’t _have_ to be there.

Seeing the question in my eyes—whether he can handle it himself—Azriel nods, and I flash him a tight smile and look back at Mor.

“Alright, tomorrow after lunch” She doesn’t squeal this time, but she looks positively malicious and scheming.

“We’re going to have _so_ much fun” I take a deep, steadying breath. If it’s anything like the day we went out shopping, _fun_ isn’t quite the word.

“I’m sure we will” I find myself agreeing either way.

~O~

Despite the painkilling and energizing tea Azriel so kindly offered me during lunch, to make up for our rather sleepless night, my head’s heavy with sleep and pulsing with a headache as I sit in the armchair of my old room, watching Mor rummage through my closet for the _perfect_ dress.

I’d be fine with anything, but Mor insists it has to be _right_.

“Just _imagine_ the look on Az’s face when he sees you in something like this” She states, tugging out a light blue gown that’s really just a bunch of woven strips of sheer cloth and silver jewelry weaving into some kind of under dress to fill out the spaces where the fabric of the dress does not cover, which is in a lot of places, especially the legs, the front just a long flap, and the back much the same.

So _that’s_ what this is about. I should have known.

“Sure, it’s pretty” I confirm as she shows it up before me. “But it doesn’t feel like it fits an _Autumn_ Equinox Ball” She gives the gown a long, contemplative look.

“True, the color feels more like winter” She turns and stuffs it back in place, resuming her search. “Have you two talked about mating yet?” She asks casually, flipping through the dresses, stopping at some, considering, then moving on.

“We have… We’re in no rush” She hums, tugs out a dress and turns.

“What about this one?” She reveals a long, slim, golden gown, with near see-through off-the-shoulder sleeves, detailed in layers of shimmering golden leaves along the neckline and down the outline of the frame down to the waist, continuing around and up the back. I give it a long assessment, even if my head’s pounding and I’d much rather take a nap at this point.

“It’s nice, but it still doesn’t feel like a gown suited for a Ball. I’d wear that to a birthday celebration, or some other festivity” Mor is not deterred by my answer, but motivated as she spins around and puts back the gown.

“You’re right, you need something with more _flare_ ” She continues her search. “But things are good? Between you two?” I hum a yes.

“Why wouldn’t it?” I question, crossing my leg over the other as I lounge in the chair.

“I don’t know. You’re both so… reserved, I guess. Tame” I let out a soft laugh.

“Just because we’re mates doesn’t mean we’re like Feyre and Rhys. You’ve known Azriel longer than I have, you should know how he feels about open displays of _any_ kind of emotion” Her head cocks to the side just a fraction. “Coincidentally, I feel similarly. We’re content to keep to ourselves” She grabs another dress and unhooks it, turning to show me.

“So he kisses you in private, is what you’re saying” She states, lifting this new gown before her. “Thoughts?” She adds, and I juggle the task of assessing this outrageously flashy and beautiful dress and answering her question.

“He does more than kiss me” I manage to state, but my tone doesn’t quite hold the playfulness I intended as my eyes take in the sight before me. Mor snorts though. “That’s beautiful” I straighten in my seat. “I still can’t believe you made me _buy_ that” She only smirks.

“Have we found the one?” I rake my gaze up and down it, taking in the bodice made of golden embroidery and white pearls that hardly hides anything at all, with an open back held together by a strip patterned with that gold embroidery just below the back of the neck, and long embroidered sleeves. The skirt, Mother above, the skirt is outrageously detailed, sown from and layered with a sheer white fabric, as heavily embroidered in shimmering gold thread and pearls as the bodice. As a final touch to an already phenomenal dress, sections of the lower half of the dress have been layered with golden feathers. Not too many to be overwhelming, but enough to accentuate the piece, laying flat along the pool of the fabric now, but bound to whoosh and flare to the motions of a waltz.

“I’ll look _ridiculous_ in that” I state, my eyes flicking up to Mor. She waves a lazy hand before her, dismissing my statement.

“Don’t be _silly_ , you’re like the _only_ female I can think of who could pull this off” She motions for me to stand. “Try it on, see how you feel in it” I suck in a slow breath, then rise, heading over to accept, even if that dress is _way_ too gorgeous for me.

But stood before the mirror after a ridiculous amount of time fussing to get into this thing, I feel… I feel beautiful in this.

The gold brings out the color in my otherwise dark voids for eyes, works well with my hair and my relatively sun-tanned skin, the latter almost making my skin blend with the gold, like the dress is a part of me rather than something I’m wearing. And the feather’s match my wings, obviously, be they different colors.

It feels like a gown a Seraphim Queen would have donned, rather than a lowly warrior like myself, but… Mor’s right, I sort of pull it off.

“Well?” She asks, peering into the mirror at my right, features bright, encouraging.

“Azriel’s going to have a heart attack” Mor bursts out laughing, the sound so lovely I can’t help but laugh as well, be mine a little calmer.

“That sounds like a yes. Common, let’s figure out how to do your hair. I’ll lend you some jewelry to go with the dress later” I accept her guiding hand and let her sit me down before the vanity, and together we conjure a more fancy version of my people’s war braids.


	15. Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because today's been a great day, I'll give you lot two more chapters, so one more after this one. It might bite me in the ass later when I run out of prewritten stuff, but right now that shouldn't be an issue.

Azriel finds me in the music room not long after Mor left, taking my dress for temporary safekeeping, in case Azriel comes snooping. Unless his shadows have already snitched, of course. But they seemed to avoid my room while we picked out the dress, as if they knew to keep it a surprise.

“How’d things go?” I ask calmly as he approaches, my hands gently playing the soothing tune I’ve picked today, my fingers slowly moving over the keys.

“Everything’s progressing as it should” He state with equal calm, and perhaps the hint of a sigh. “How did things go with Mor?” He asks, smoothly sliding onto the stool with me, even if it’s not quite large enough for two. His arm snakes around my waist to make sure I don’t slip down the edge.

“It went fine, we found the dress and all that. She’ll find me jewelry later” He hums, and I lean in to snuggle my head into the crook of his neck, his chin coming down to rest atop my brow.

“Will you tell me about the dress?” I smile.

“No” I state simply, keeping my eyes on the keys as I continue to play.

“Figured” He grumbles. “Suppose I’ll suffer for a month, then” I laugh, snuggle closer, and I know he’s smiling too as he buries his face into my hair.

“It’s called a surprise, Azriel, they’re harmless” I let my hands slow further, but keep playing.

“Knowing Mor, _and_ you, you've picked something design to torture me” A serpent smile slips onto my lips. “I can _feel_ that I’m right” He sighs in exasperation. “You’ll be the death of me” I let my hands stop completely, let one find its way to Azriel’s thigh as I angle my head to trace my nose along his throat.

“Don’t be ridiculous” I purr, letting my hand slip higher, my lips graze his lovely skin. “I still need you alive” The change in his scent is instant, and potent, growing the ever-living flame in my blood in an instant.

“For what?” He breathes as I let my mouth close around his pulse, sucking and nipping, smug satisfaction spearing through me as his breathing hitches, grip of me tightens.

With my mouth rather preoccupied, I let my hand relay the message instead, let it trail up the last of the way and palm him through his trousers. His answering groan is like music to my ears, as melodic as his voice.

His arm around me urges me closer, and I take the hint, twisting to seat myself in his lap, a leg straddling either side of him, my hand’s grip of him being replaced by the grind of my hips, said hand slipping up into his hair instead as my lips work up his neck. Azriel only arches, granting me as much reach as I could desire, yet it’s still not enough. I don’t think it’ll ever be enough.

His hands find my bottom and aid my motions—be they torturous to us both—and the world around us fades into a haze as my mouth trail up his jaw, finding his lips. Those lips do not hesitate to part, his tongue engaging in a heated waltz with my own as we fall deeper and deeper into the pit of desire. A sudden turn of events, but welcome none the less.

The taste of him is always welcome.

I can’t help the yelp as he stands—clutching me to him as he does, effortlessly lifting me—and the piano cries out in a mess of mismatched notes as he sits me down atop the keys, leaning me back against it’s body as he pushes himself against me, grinds himself between my thighs, his tongue lapping at every sensitive surface in my mouth, his hand reaching up to palm my chest through the fabric of my blouse. It all combined has me moaning into his mouth, a sound he swallows and consumes like fine wine.

His free hand reaches down to my waistband, tugs, slips my pants down and lets go of my chest to lift me up and tug them down all the way to my ankles, and I don’t have the sense to stop him, don’t _want_ to stop him, not even as my underthings slip down to my ankles as well, and the piano lets out another cry of notes

The feel of the ivory against my bared skin snaps me out of the haze just a fraction, but not enough to protest as Azriel’s lips slip from mine and he falls to his knees before me, toppling the stool behind him in his haste, the sound mixing with the inharmonious music spewing from the piano as my hands slip down to take leverage against the keys.

The sudden burst of sound and notes reminds me where we are, how open of a place we’re in, what I'm sitting on.

“Az” I breathe as his hands loop my legs over his shoulders, his hands gripping my thighs and spreading me wide. “The piano” I can’t muster anything more.

“Fuck the piano” I breathe a laugh, but it fades into a moan as his lips trail up my inner thigh.

“That’s what worries me…” I sigh, but even so, I can’t help but arch into his touch as his tongue treks through my aching valley, up to the throbbing peak of me. I can’t bare to hinge my cries of bliss either as he gets to work, can’t muster the will to care about the precarious seating I’m in, steadied by Azriel’s tight grip of my hips.

There’s only his touch, the careful and precise sweeps of his tongue, it all working to set me alight, working me towards that blissful edge, one stroke at a time.

Against all that’s rational—sane—I let go of the piano and nestle my hand into his hair, gripping it tight as he continues his marvelous work, his subsequent groan nearly enough to tip me over the edge, my grip only tightening in response as I urge him on, his hands tightening their grip of me in answer, tightly enough to bruise.

A few, well placed strokes later, and I shatter, my thighs tightening around his head as I cry out in bliss, my body set aflame with wave after wave of pleasure as he works me through it stroke for stroke, lapping up every sweet bit of me as I come undone before him, wings completely slackened behind me, head hung limply between them as my cry slowly fades into pants, my hand loosening its grip of his hair enough to let him go, should he want, but the male seems content to remain, to savor every drop of me, though being mindful of my growing sensitivity as he does.

Once he leans out of my grasp, my hand returns to grip the keys, those I press sounding another cry of discord from the piano I sit upon.

The situation gains clarity then, and I find myself laughing, breathlessly, as I slowly lift my head to look down at the male still kneeling between my legs.

His mouth is smeared with me, glossy with it, and tilted into a smirk of pure male satisfaction as he gazes up at my flushed, blissful face, his own face reddened, eyes darkened by lust, but taking pride in his conquest, definitely.

“I’ll never play with a straight face again” I breathe, laughter lining my voice. He grins, gently moves to untangle my legs from him and stands up before me, hands planted at my bare hips, the bulge in his pants clear, but he doesn’t seem inclined to do anything about it right now.

“I want to fuck you against this someday” Shivers quake through my body, his voice like living darkness. I can’t help but let my eyes drift down, well aware that little more than fabric prevents that from becoming a reality right now.

“This is an instrument of _art_ , Azriel” I state as I return my eyes to his, some strength having returned to my voice. He leans down, his lips hovering before my own.

“And we’re making music” He murmurs before those lips capture mine, and the taste of myself on him has me groaning against him, my hands clawing at him, already aching for more.

Despite the _lovely_ music we’re composing, Azriel makes the sound decision to shift us back to his bed, and in the safety of his dorm, I make sure his own lust is sated, spending hours into the evening just worshiping him with my mouth, my hands, every inch of me I can give, and he gives back in every sense of the word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My kinkly little lovebirds.


	16. Equinox

The month before the Ball is uneventful. Amren isn’t quite able to figure out a reliable way to store light for me, and I make little progress when it comes to pulling lethal light from the world, but Amren doesn’t skin me for it, at least. There’s no movement from the other faerie territories either, not beyond the occasional, curious young Fae having a peak on the humans, but nothing too dangerous comes of it yet. It feels like it’s only a matter of time though, and if war was to break out across the world again so soon… Prythian wouldn’t have the strength to quell the conflict.

That Azriel’s begun to pick up whispers of discontent amongst the Illyrians doesn’t help, but so far it seems like mere grumbles with little roots. The smallest of embers can grown into wildfires though, a fact that prompts Azriel to monitor closely, and keeping him very occupied with his share of work.

We don’t indulge in much more music-making because of this, not as thoroughly as then, at least.

Which is fine, a night spent huddled up in his arms is just as nice as an evening devouring him whole, and I’ve been busy enough not to crave as much either, been tired enough after my rigorous workouts and magical practice and distant observing that I often just pass out in his arms, occasionally brought out of rest from a nightmare, or to soothe Azriel through one of his.

Our house is coming along too, the interior just about sorted and ready to be furnished. Within the next couple weeks, perhaps.

We’ll be moving in in time for Solstice at this rate, which is great. Solstice with the Circle will be great.

But gifts… I’ll worry about that later.

Because today’s the Equinox, and Mor has worked hard to prime me for the occasion, acquiring the jewelry she spoke of, though Nuala and Cerridwen help us all get ready, us all being me, Feyre, Mor and Elain. We asked Nesta to come, but… She _politely_ declined.

She’s not well, but there’s not much we can do for her now, not unless she wants to be helped. At least that’s Feyre’s current order, and I suppose she’s right, but… It feels too familiar, this situation with her, but it’s not something I voice.

Especially not now, with Nuala carefully braiding back my hair, weaving strings of gold and pearls into it, adding to the outrageous amount of sparkle and bling I already don.

It feels unnecessary, but I’ll admit, it looks lovely.

Not as Lovely as Feyre in her midnight-blue gown, sparkling like the night sky, her hair partly pulled back into a braided crown, the rest flowing in soft, lovely curls. Perhaps not autumn-themed, but she fits the role of High Lady of Night, and I doubt Rhys will sway from his black tonight, so they’ll match.

I’m also not as lovely as Mor in her brilliant, crimson dress, showing off more skin than I care to address, and looks utterly astonishing on her, the golden jewelry so Mor it’s just _right_ , her golden hair a perfect match.

Elain is Elain in her soft, pink gown, the garment modest, but amplifying her beauty by the tenfold, her simple jewelry adding to her natural beauty while not overshadowing it.

Nuala offers to add kohl to my eyes, but I politely decline, taking one look in the mirror and finding that any more and I’d be completely unrecognizable. She only nods and proceeds to weave more golden thread into my partly braided back hair, almost like Feyre's, though her braid a bun at the back of her head, while mine flows freely together with my loose waves.

The half-wraith finishes her work and allows me to stand, and I calmly turn to face the other occupants of Mor’s town house room, all of us having agreed to get ready together. Say Amren, who’s off doing whatever she does, but _should_ be joining us at the Ball, as far as I’m aware.

I can tell Mor’s holding back a squeal as she looks at me, the female more excited to see Azriel keel over and die at the sight of me than I am, as she would be. Feyre only smiles as I coil my arms around my waist, my wings rustling behind me as my nervousness shows its face.

Mor’s forced me to learn a few dances we’ll be dancing at the Ball tonight, just a couple, and while I _can_ dance, have had to attend Drakon’s Court gatherings a few times over the centuries, I wouldn’t say I’m good at it. Despite her lessons, I still am not.

It’ll be fine.

Yeah, it’ll be okay.

“You’re beautiful, Estelle” Elain states, stepping forward, her face as bright and lovely as always. Sweet and gentle. I muster a smile, be it guarded, unsure.

I watch Feyre’s eyes go blank for a moment, then settle on us all.

“Rhys and the other’s have gone ahead, everything is safe” She reaches out for Mor, to have her winnow us to the Day Court. I gulp.

“Amren was with them?” I question, and Feyre nods my way, grasping Mor’s hand. Mor reaches her other out to me and Elain, but I remain frozen in place, the thought of that crowded ballroom daunting, the thought of what Azriel will actually think terrifying.

What if he doesn’t like it? What if he doesn’t find me as lovely as Mor thinks he will? What if I stand out? Will I be able to handle all those eyes on me? Will _Azriel_ be able to stomach other males looking at me?

Elain pries a hand away from my waist, grasps it, and guides me over to Mor and Feyre, her smile encouraging and reassuring all the way. And as we take Mor’s hand, I will myself to be brave and do this.

The rush of nothingness that is winnowing rips my composure away for a moment as we appear on the landing outside the palace, guards posted to escort us into the hall where the rest of our court awaits, and every step into this lovely, sun-stone palace has my nerves quaking with unease, every step closer to that set of dual doors—music slipping through the cracks—leaving me ready to bolt. Yet I steel my spine into something close to regal grace, tuck in my wings and lift my chin, bracing for what’s to come, and refusing to give in to the whispers in my head telling me to run, to hide.

As those doors open for us, I will myself to retain this resolve, to step into this hall together with my friends and not balk, not for a heartbeat, and as we pass through into the crowded ballroom, my eyes effortlessly find Azriel, stood a few paces deeper into the room with Cass, Rhys and Amren. It doesn’t take long for them to spot us, for _him_ to spot us. Spot _me_.

I don’t think he breathes, nor does he blink as I slowly step their way, his eyes honed in on me so intently and his heart hammering so intensely in my head that I fear he might actually be risking a heart attack.

I’m not given the time to find out, as a male I recognize as Helion intercepts our path, dressed in a clean, white robe, his jewelry that of gold and the occasional red ruby, his hair adorned with a crown resembling the rays of the sun.

He greets us with a dashing smile, then bows dramatically as he greets us all.

“Welcome, fair maidens, to my annual Equinox Ball” He straightens, facing Feyre with a friendly smile, looking over Mor with clear appreciation, flashing Elain a kind smile, and me… His eyes linger, rake across my attire with obvious praise, his dark brows raised in what I suppose is delight. “My, oh my, I could swear I stand before a queen” I don’t let myself blush, but school my features into something polite. “Say, I never caught your name during the war, fair Seraphim” I force myself to appear at ease as I speak, even though my heart’s pounding, his clear attention unnerving, and Azriel… I can sense his sparks of jealousy clear as day.

“Estelle” I answer, and the male practically beams as he smiles, his entire being radiating light, like the sun made flesh. I can’t refuse him as he takes my hand, bringing it up to press a kiss to my knuckles, and I force myself not to be unnerved, at least not externally.

“Ah, an adaption of a dialect of ours, and a _star_ you are indeed” He lowers my hand again, and I slip out of his grasp, let it fall limp at my side as I take a couple steps back. “You are welcome to my palace, Estelle, as you all are, of course” He adds, locking to the rest of my female company, then he looks back at me. “If you’d be willing, I—” He’s not allowed to finish, as Azriel cuts in between us, silent invitation in his eyes, along with a vile darkness I know is directed at Helion, and not me.

I take his hand without hesitance, let him spin me around, the golden feathers of my gown rustling and flaring with my skirt, and as I return to face him, he effortlessly guides me in against him, his other, free hand settling at my waist.

Looking over Azriel’s shoulder—past the dark peaks of his wings—I see Helion, eyes wide in what I suppose is surprise to have been so thoroughly dismissed, but I can’t find it in me to care, and Mor swiftly cuts in to diffuse the situation, offering to dance with the male, which seems to please him well enough, and Azriel continues to linger in silence as he keeps me steady before him, the rest of our family gathering a few paces away, discussing things Azriel doesn’t seem to care for, and I can’t seem to find it in me to care either.

There is only him, dressed in finer clothes than I think I’ve ever seen on him, similar to Rhys’s regal clothing, but a navy blue rather than black, matching the cobalt of his Siphons, still strapped to the back of his hands. His hair’s been fixed too, a little, combed back to the side with a hint of wax, but his braid remains, and the feather, the gold thread shimmering in his brown-black hair.

Handsome, gorgeous, beautiful. The words aren’t enough to describe him, words are never quite enough to describe him, no matter his attire.

“You’re breathtaking” Azriel breathes, the words spoken as if he indeed has not breathed in a while, has not let that inhale go until now. I smile, unable to resist the blush rushing to my unpainted cheeks.

“Is it as torturous as you suspected?” I manage to ask, and his gaze darkens with something other than jealousy as he lets his eyes take in every part of me, every swirl of golden lace that just _barely_ covers me.

“Worse” He rasps, his hand at my waist snaking upwards, the heat of his hand traveling right through the fabric, which might as well be a mere cobweb of lace and pearl, honestly. His touch and tone has my toes curling in my flats, my skin prickling with goosebumps.

Luckily, well placed pearls hide my body’s reaction to him, and a thin veil of shielding air keeps my scent from reaching any unwanted noses.

Azriel feels it though, and that darkness grows deeper, his pupils dilating until nearly all of the gold has been consumed, but he does not act on it, lets his hand slip back to my waist and remain there.

We’re at a Ball, after all, some semblance of decency is required.

Azriel takes my hand though, the one Helion kissed, and kisses that same spot, as if to wipe his unappreciated touch away, and doing so for a great deal longer than what is probably deemed proper, and necessary. I let him, if only because the feel of his lips is intoxicating, helps take the edge off of my nervousness.

“You look handsome” I remember to say and not merely think, and his eyes flick back to my own, his hand lowering mine form his lips, but holding on tight, yet comfortably. A smile twitches onto his lips. “The most gorgeous male in the entire palace” I purr, leaning into him, bringing us ever closer. “The entire world” And while the words are partly to soothe whatever sore seeing Helion so close and personal with me caused, it’s also true. No male could ever compare to him, not in my eyes.

“Such flattery” I tilt my head to the side.

“And pure truth” I assure him, reaching my hand up to brush along his cheek, and he leans into the touch, just a little. “Thanks for getting me out of that” I mumble, my eyes flicking to where I see Helion and Mor dancing, having a merry ol’ time. Azriel’s nose crinkles into a silent snarl for just a heartbeat.

“I could tell you were uncomfortable” He mumbles, and my hand settles back at his shoulder.

“I _am_ uncomfortable, but with you… It’s better with you” His brow lifts faintly. “Large crowd, unknown faces, a lot of prying eyes. Not a good combination” He nods, his jaw setting tightly enough that I know he agrees.

“Will you be alright?” I smile wider, his concern so terribly sweet.

It never fails to warm my heart, to know he cares so much.

“With you? Always” I assure him, and his answering smile is brighter, and lasts much longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much fun writing this thing, you have no idea.


	17. Dance

As Azriel moves me across this ballroom—every dip and spin perfect and fluid—the world around us simply melts away, turns into an inconsequential blur of color and lights.

Though Mor’s private tutoring helps, Azriel guides with such splendid ease that I feel I’d been fine without it, would have easily slipped into these dances with him none the less. We move as one through dance after dance, hardly stopping for even a breather between the musical pieces, yet I hardly feel winded.

There’s only the press of his body against mine as he pulls me in from a spin that has my skirt and feathers flaring and shimmering in the faelight, the feel of his solid grip as he dips and lifts and leads me through the moving crowd with the ease of a purebred courtier. There's only the untamed joy of being in his presence.

After what must be hours of energetic, exhilarating waltzes, a slower dance comes on, and as the gentler tunes fill the hall, Azriel and I decide to be content to simply sway in place together, my arms wrapped around his neck, his hands resting comfortably at my hips.

“Who taught you to dance?” I ask softly, the question the first string of words spoken between us since we started dancing. There was no time, nor need for it before.

“Mor” He answers calmly. I raise a brow, inclined to know more. “A place in Rhy’s court meant I needed to attend some celebrations, and participate, she made sure I wouldn’t look like a fool” His eyes drift into the crowd, and I follow his gaze, finding Mor in the mess of bodies, dancing with some Day Court male. She seems more focused on us though, her eyes clearly glancing our way. “She’s been watching us all evening” He states, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

“She dressed me like this to torment you, she probably wants to see how it’s playing out” He chuckles softly, his eyes drifting back to me, hooded and dark.

“Typical Mor” That dark gaze rakes down my body—what he can glimpse past the press of our bodies. “She did a good job” He murmurs, face leaning in close, so close our noses touch. A smile tugs onto my lips, a blush darkening my cheeks. “Who taught you to dance?” He throws back the question, his nose trailing the bridge of my own.

“I had an instructor at Drakon’s court. As his prized spy I had to attend Balls and formalities—mainly to observe, but dancing occurred… Mor also refreshed my memory a little over the month, but you’re such a fluent lead I hardly have to try” A smile sneaks its way onto his lips, then he presses those lips to my brow, if only for a moment. I can’t help the foolish smile from taking root, from lingering long after his lips slip away and I’m gazing into his eyes again.

Azriel’s eyes twitch to Mor again though, and a soft frown tugs onto his brows. I follow his line of sigh.

Mor’s face is lit up in awe, as if she saw that little kiss and was utterly amazed. I can’t help the soft snickers from escaping me, which grants me Azriel’s attention again, his brows furrowed in subtle question.

“A month back, Mor wasn’t sure whether we were _good_ , because we’re so _tame_ around everyone” Azriel snorts, his head leaning down to link his brow with mine.

“We’re _tame_ ‘cause it’s none of their business” He murmurs, and it almost sounds apologetic.

“I know” I trail a hand up his neck, playing with the ends of his hair. “I prefer keeping things private” He hums. “But I… Wouldn’t mind a kiss. I’d never mind a kiss” A spark flutters in his eyes, a mischievous spark.

“Even here? Where anyone could see?” I let my fingers gently scrape down his neck, his skin breaking out into goosebumps in a heartbeat, his heart accelerating alongside mine.

“It’d let them know I’m yours” I purr, tilting my head to shrink the distance between us. “Keep males like Helion away” His eyes narrow.

“You’re deliberately tempting me” He rumbles, and my smile shifts into a smirk.

“I’m merely stating facts” He growls faintly, the sound a low rumble in the back of his throat. “You’re not the only male who likes what he sees” His eyes grow dark and dangerous. “Show them I’m yours and no one else’s” His grip of me tightens, presses me so close there’s no space to move as his lips crash into my own, no path but that which leads to his mouth, to his frantic, claiming lips, his teeth digging into my lower lip and tongue slipping in as I gasp, my body set alight within a heartbeat and burning brighter with each sweep of his tongue against my own.

His. I’m his.

And he’s mine.

May they all know it.

I can’t help but pant as we part, his brow still linked with my own as he too breathes slowly and deeply, reining himself again one breath at a time. With the flush press of my body against him, I can tell he’s failing, and while I want the room to know I’m Azriel’s and no one else’s, I’d prefer his intoxicating scent to only reach my nose. So I weave a barrier around us to keep it for us alone to sense.

I glance in Mor’s general direction, easily able to spot the blonde in the crowd, and her face is lit up with repressed squealing and amazement.

She would have seen every moment of that, seen how I slowly wore down his guard until it broke, a feat I don’t think many in the circle has accomplished before. I wink at her, then return my eyes to Azriel, only to find his eyes narrowed into slits before me, riddled with suspicion.

“Were you making a show out of me?” I school my face into innocence.

“Of course not” I trail a hand down to his shoulder, his bicep. “I enjoyed that as much as you did” I push my hips against his, and a muscle in his jaw flares as he clamps down on whatever tortured sound he craves to make. “That Mor happened to be watching was beyond my control” He growls softly.

“You’re a menace” I smile coyly.

“I’m _your_ menace” I slip my other hand up to his jaw, cupping it. “Only yours” He leans into the touch just a fraction. “Forever and always” A smile tugs onto his lips.

“You make a fool out of me” He sighs, and I reach that hand up higher, let my thumb sweep across his cheek.

“I know” I murmur. “But you’re _my_ fool” I move my hand from his arm to his other cheek. “And I love you just as you are, every little piece of you” I reach up and plant a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. “Even those I’ve yet to meet” I murmur against his lips, and I feel his smile broaden, feel his hold of my hips shift into a snug embrace.

“I love you” He murmurs back, his shadows creeping out of their hiding places to brush against me, their touch as loving as his words. “My little menace” I can’t help but kiss him again.


	18. Secrecy

Thirst eventually brings us to the sideline, a glass of sparkling champagne each in hand as we observe the continued dancing, riddled with our family of friends and strangers alike.

Being stood here feels much more natural to me than actually dancing, though the hours spent in Azriel’s confident lead have been lovely, I won’t deny that. This—observing—is simply something I’m more used to, my eyes trained to find every little detail in the mess before us.

It’s mostly subconscious, but I pick up on the little things, like a male accidentally stepping on a lady’s foot, or a pair keeping extra close, their intent for later this evening clearly written in their faces.

I wonder if that’s what Azriel and I looked like previously, though I find I don’t particularly care how our proximity and actions looked to any onlookers. He’s my mate—my partner—physical proximity is expected.

Even now, he keeps me close, an arm curled comfortably around my waist in what I know is silent possessiveness, but it’s by no means a restrictive kind of touch. It’s calming if anything, to know that he’s here with me. Calming to be able to lean my head against his shoulder, to let my weight rest against his solid frame and know it won’t fail me, won’t buckle.

Our family is still dancing, scattered throughout the hall as they dance in a bubble of their own, much like Azriel and I did before.

Feyre and Rhys are the most lost in one another, and while neither of them can fully hide the exhaustion of their busy life, no matter how hard they try, they seem to be enjoying the moment, living in the now for just an evening.

Mor’s currently dancing with Cassian, the brutish commander not quite as fluid on his feet as Azriel, but Mor only laughs as he steps on her feet, they both do.

Amren is dancing with Varian. How the Summer Court male managed to slip away from his duties in Adriata is beyond me, considering his High Lord and sister are not present this evening, much like most other Courts say Dawn, but Amren is enjoying herself, so I won’t question it further.

Elain has found herself a good seat by the refreshment table, spending her evening eating all the new and exciting Day Court foods she can get her hands on. She’s declined all offers to dance she’s gotten so far, say the one Feyre offered hours ago, but she seems as happy as can be at her table. That’s really all that matters.

My eyes drift to the High Lord of Dawn, stood at the sideline with a Peregryn male rather than dancing, the two speaking so softly their lips hardly move.

He’s the only other High Lord present here. I don’t know if Helion invited any of the others and they declined, or he only invited his solar court allies, but it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that they’re here, because despite the revelry and merry atmosphere of this gathering, it still holds political weight and works to uphold relations.

If the other High Lords denied the invitation to come here, it could be a bad sign, but all the Courts, especially the seasonal ones, suffered greatly during the war, and due to this it’s highly likely they decided to focus on rebuilding their lands rather than partying.

Considering the lingering ruins in Velaris, some might say Rhys and Feyre should focus their work there as well, but… They’ve been working themselves to the bone since the war ended, they deserve this evening of merriment.

Speaking of our High Lord and High Lady, they appear to have gone missing. I can’t find a trace of them in the hall, not a hint of their dark attires amongst the red and gold and oranges, even some greens.

“Can you spy Rhys and Feyre from up there?” I ask calmly, and Azriel’s neck instantly cranes to peer out over the crowd, his superior height bound to grant him clearer vision.

“No” He states, his tone mildly curious, but also not surprised by the fact they’re gone.

“Wonder what private alcove they’ve found tonight” I muse, and Azriel lets out a soft snort.

“Assuming it’s private” I laugh softly, sip on my champagne.

“You don’t have the right to judge” I cast him a glance, catching the faintly raised brow of his. “The music room” His eyes darken and twinkle with mischief, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“No one was at the House”

“Still” His head lowers, leans in close to my ear.

“You were more worried about the piano, as far as I recall” I feel a shadow of his brush along my ankle. “Not about getting caught” His words are a low murmur, his tone rough enough to birth shivers down my spine.

“I’ll admit… It added an element of… Thrill” A content rumble rolls out of him like a purr, and that little shadow I felt brushing my ankle slithers up my bare leg in a slow, taunting coil.

“I’m glad our tastes correlate” He purrs in my ear, the shadow reaching higher and higher.

I’m still learning the true extent of his _tastes_ , but Azriel’s clearly not the ordinary lover, not at all. While he’s guarded and reserved emotionally, even with me at times… Sexually, he’s rather daring.

That shadow sneaking up my thigh is clear evidence of that.

“This is quite different from then” I state calmly, willing myself to remain neutral and unaffected externally, even though my senses have completely honed in on that cool, slithering bit of sentient darkness.

“How so?” He murmurs, his tone innocent yet roughened enough to let me know he’s _very_ aware of what he’s doing.

“This is a crowded ballroom, not an empty music hall” I feel the smirk on his lips as he kisses the spot behind the shell of my ear.

“Are you asking me to stop?” The shadow has stopped its slithering, waiting for an answer just as its master.

I gently chew on my lip, letting my eyes take in the hall before me, full of dancing faeries who seem more occupied with their own partners than anything else. Azriel and I are nothing more than background characters in their little worlds, our presences a drop in the ocean here rather than the center of it as we were in the music room—would have been had anyone walked in on us.

As long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves, we’ll remain the background and nothing more, and this game of keeping in the background, keeping unnoticed…

“No, carry on” My tone is the display of perfect indifference, even as my heart rages in my chest, twinned by his own erratic heart, the prospect of this dangerous game as thrilling to him as it is to me.

Our tastes _do_ correlate, it seems, though I’ve never had a daring enough lover to explore this rather… unorthodox aspect of my preferences.

I wonder if he’d tie me up if I asked, wonder if he’d enjoy that.

He probably would.

I’d probably enjoy tying _him_ up.

My blood heats at the mere thought of it all, at the feel of that daring little wisp of shadow brushing closer and closer to my unclothed center.

I strangle the gasp as it reaches me, let it remain nothing but a sharp intake of breath through my nose, one I hold as it prods and explores, it’s cool feel a sharp contrast against my burning skin. That too is exhilarating, just as this situation is thrilling, the task of keeping neutral and unaffected adding a layer of restraint without physically being restrained that simply has me reeling.

Azriel remains stationary at my side, his arm around my waist as casual and lose as previously, though his head has come to rest atop my own, giving off the look of two lovers simply basking in the other’s presence. His shadows lace his body like a second layer of skin, blending with his clothes to remain practically unnoticeable, but still efficiently hiding the physical evidence of his own enjoyment. The scent-shield I’ve strung around us remains, further veiling us in secrecy.

“Where are your underthings?” He asks, his voice less than a whisper, and more rasp than words really.

“I was carefully crafted to torment you, remember?” He growls, the sound reverberating in my bones, settling in my core, a core that’s growing more molten by the second as his daring shadow licks across my sensitive skin.

It nudges my legs to part further, and I obey, acting as if I’m merely repositioning myself against him, and not opening up for his prodding.

Thinking about it, this isn’t much different from the tent incident. I had to stay silent then for the same reason as I do now, though I suspect his order for me to remain still back then was partly to make sure he didn’t get too carried away by my physical reactions to him. Even so, there was an element of restraint I found thrilling, and the only difference here is that it’s more open.

“No illusions” Azriel murmurs, shutting down the idea before I have time to consider it.

I don’t answer, not as the cool touch of his shadow gathers at the apex of my thigh and continues to brush against it, my legs trembling beneath me as pleasure rushes through my bloodstream, and the remainder of my champagne ripples in it’s glass as I tremble with restraint.

I decide to remove the issue and down what remains in the glass, allowing the act to mask my face as it twists with pleasure, turning it into an act of appreciation for the beverage rather than his work between my legs.

Azriel chuckles, noting my carefully placed slip of composure, but by the time I lower the glass, my face is the perfect display of calm neutrality as I observe the ocean of colorful skirts and moving bodies, the flush on my cheeks easily able to be disregarded as the product of mild intoxication.

“Who taught you to play?” Azriel purrs, his work growing increasingly confident, as if he still felt unsure before despite my clear acceptance.

“I’ve had a few teachers over the years” I admit, my voice begrudgingly a couple octaves higher than usually, curtsy of my tight throat as I work to suppress the need to moan and gasp and pant, willing my breath to remain even and soundless, though a little deeper than normal, I’ll admit.

He growls, his instincts unhappy with the thought of other males touching me, but he quickly quells it and returns to his own calm indifference.

“None have ever compared to you though” I purr, allowing myself to nuzzle my head into the crook of his neck, for it to shield my furrowed brows as I clamp down on a moan instilled by a particularly precise sweep between my folds. “You make me want to do unspeakable things” I admit, unable to hide the desire in my voice.

That growl of jealousy is replaced by one of contentment.

I can’t help the soft gasp as he slips down to my true center, can’t rein my raging heart as he rims my entrance in teasing, slow circles, but I quickly clamp my jaw shut and keep it locked tight as the cool feel of him slips into my core.

“I’ll teach you all I know” He promises darkly, commanding his trusted servants and fragments of his being to pleasure me ragged, and I take every second of it with a steely determination to win this game, even as he works his hardest to make me fail, to make me slip.

Unimpressed by the currently one-sided aspect of this, I carefully let a wisp of solid air sneak it’s way up a leg of his pants, and I feel him stiffen as it brushes higher, feel his grip of my waist tighten for a heartbeat before he resets his composure, as intent to remain in the game as I am, even as I trail higher and higher.

“I’d ask you to retract your shadows, since I can't illusion us…” I murmur as I reach his groin, brushing over the evidence of his enjoyment. “But I’m not _that_ cruel” He chuckles, the sound a husky rasp.

“If I stain my pants, you’re cleaning me up” A soft smirk creeps up on my lips, though it wavers as a burst of fire sears through my blood, my knees quivering beneath me as he builds me up higher ever so slowly.

“With pleasure, if you return the favor” I pay for that comment, and my lungs burn as I choke down the need to voice my approval, this restraint tensing my body further and further, aiding the pleasurable tensing of my abdomen and thighs as he slips me closer and closer to the edge.

I retaliate, coil my golden wind around him and squeeze, his sharp exhale like music to my ears.

He only builds me up high and higher, and despite my best efforts, I cannot rein my breathing, cannot keep from panting, be it through my nose, and as I shift my head to look up at my wicked mate, I only find triumph and darkness in his eyes. He’s very aware how close I’m getting, can probably feel how I tremble against him, feel how the bond burns with my building pleasure just as my body does, tensing as it braces for the snap I glimpse just on the horizon.

Desperate for something to hold on to before I plummet, I let my free hand fall to grip his where it rests at my waists, and his fingers seamlessly weave with mine, unbothered by the way my nails dig into his skin as I clutch to the living, cling to reality.

As it all comes crashing down, all that slips from my lips is a soft whimper, and my legs shudder as wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure rushes through my body, clouding my senses enough to let my face twists and react, though I manage to bury it into his shoulder, manage to mask my chipping breaths in the midnight-blue fabric of his shirt, and with my legs giving out beneath me, Azriel’s hold of me tightens and keeps me standing, his sinful little shadow working me through it all one wave at a time.

Scandalous, and exhilarating.

“I win” Azriel murmurs, and I tighten my magic’s hold of him in answer, growling softly.

“The game’s not over” I rasp, and I swear he shudders, swear his wings rustle as I move that solid wisp of wind along him, up and down his straining length.

“Let’s finish this somewhere else to be, then” His voice is clearly strained, tense as he holds back his reactions to my phantom touch. “I’d like to taste my victory” My toes curl in my flats.

“Then spirit us away” Because walking… I don’t trust my legs to hold.

From the feelings I catch down the bond—the male satisfaction fluttering through—he knows that as well.

In a flutter of living darkness, Azriel brings us to our appointed room for the evening, not wasting a heartbeat as he guides me down atop the bed and proceeds to taste his victory. Once he gets through the many layers of my skirt, that is.

Eventually, I get to taste him too, and take my sweet time doing so.


	19. Sunshine

It’s done. The interior of the house is done, leaving only the task of furnishing left to sort out. But that will have to wait for a while yet, I’m afraid.

Azriel’s out in Illyria, gathering information regarding those whispers of discontent, how they’re growing—or aren’t growing. I offered to join him, but he wasn’t keen on the idea, and knowing his views regarding Illyria and it’s people, I understand why.

He doesn’t want me to see it, doesn’t want to subject me to that place and it’s terrible state, and for the time being, I’ll respect his wishes and remain here.

In all honesty, I’d much rather spend a day in the late autumn sun with Elain than sneak about in Illyria, but it pains me to know Azriel’s up there alone, dealing with the sights of his mislead people on his own.

I can already imagine the state he’ll be in upon his return, the deep withdrawal he’ll sink into, how he’ll numb himself to it all to shield himself from his angers. I can feel it even, the way he’s shut down, how his end of the bond has grown cold with chilling anger, contained by walls of ice.

I’ll make sure to bring the light back into his eyes once he returns, bring warmth into his heart again.

But that comes later, right now, I’m having pastries with Elain, seated on my front porch as the midday sun graces us with it’s warmth. A warmth that might as well be the last bit we’ll get before the cold of winter begins to settle into the land completely.

It’s soon, any day now, because this morning the yard was laced with sparkling frost, and some shaded patches of land retain this sparkling sheet of white.

Snow will be… Interesting. I’ve seen it in the Winter Court, and in other places across the world, but I’ve never really lived with it.

Neither my homeland before the war nor Cretea really had snow, at least not as a seasonal thing. Only the tallest of mountain ranges had white-tipped peaks, and I rarely spent time in their proximity.

There’s no telling how I’ll handle that freezing cold, but the house has got a fireplace, and if the cold becomes an issue, I’ll just hunker down before the flames. Then there’s Azriel’s lovely body-heat, of course.

Another issue I’ll deal with once it comes up. No use dwelling.

My eyes scan the reformed front yard instead, taking in the stacked mounds of rock and earth sprinkled about the left side as you look down towards the road, mounds bound to sprout flowers in spring, native to the mountains of the Night Court. We have some traditional flowerbeds along the house walls, but otherwise those mounds make up the majority of our floral décor.

The right side of the path leading to the porch has been left empty, and flattened a little to allow perhaps a sitting place or some other thing in the future that we haven’t thought of yet.

It’s simple, but unique, and I love how it’s turned out.

“You’ve done a wonderful job, Elain” I look to the young Fae seated on my left, nibbling on her biscuit, a creation of our own. Her cheeks turn rosy, but her smile is far from shy.

“It’ll all come together in spring, it’s really just groundwork right now” True I suppose.

“Still, it’s lovely as it is now as well, which is a good thing. It means the yard will be nice even in wintertime” She finishes her cookie and folds her hands in her lap.

“I suppose… I… I’m not sure what I’m to do once winter comes… There will be no gardens to tend to soon” I mull over her words, unsure how to condole her. “I could bake, cook, but… I don’t know, gardening is what I like to do, it helps me… Cooking isn’t quite the same”

“There are flowers that grow in wintertime” Elain’s eyes widen, and I meet her shocked gaze. “In the Winter Court. I’m not sure if they’d be willing to lend you some to grow here, but if I ever visit the land… I could ask”

“How could flowers grow in the winter?”

“Magic” Her eyes shift to the side, almost in shame, as if she’s scolding herself for not realizing. “Granted, there aren’t many as far as I know, but I don’t know much about flowers in general”

“If… If it’s possible… I’d love a winter-living plant to care for” I smile.

“I’m sure it could be arranged somehow” She nods, looking down at her lap, her eyes distant somehow, but not in the vision kind of way. “What’s on your mind?” They flick up again, out across the city, then take in the garden, the roof of the patio we sit beneath.

“When you and Azriel… Mate… Will you still spend time with me?” I’m taken aback by the question, by the hints of worry in her voice.

Worry to be left behind and forgotten.

“Of _course_ I will. Where is this coming from?” Elain works through her words, and I let her sort herself in silence.

“You’re… mates… doesn’t that mean… That you’ll always be together?” Her eyes shyly look my way.

“It does, but it doesn't mean everything we do revolves around the other. Azriel’s still my mate now, fully mated or not, and we’re apart right now, aren’t we?” She fiddles with the folds of her skirt, picks at her nails.

“But the bond… Won’t it make you want to be with the other more?” Is she… She’s not just asking about us, is she.

“It will, but the bond isn’t everything. It’s a bridge between our souls, an eternal link between our beings, but it doesn’t dictate our behavior, or our feelings” She nods slowly. “It adheres to our more primal instincts, but it doesn’t control you”

“So you’ll still be with us, you’ll… still be the same?” She faces me then, and I hold that gaze, smiling ever so softly.

“I won’t change, and while we’ll probably hide away for a time once we’ve had the bond solidified, we’ll come back, and everything will be nearly the same” She gulps. “I’ll still tend to the garden with you, if you wish. I’ll still ruin the kitchen with you, if you want. Nothing will change unless we let it change” I consider my words for a moment, weight the pros and cons of pointing out the obvious reason for her questioning, and I decide that I’d rather ask than dance around the subject. “Is that what worries you? With Lucien? Things changing?” She noticeably stiffens, but it shifts into a blush as her eyes drift down to the paved pathway at our feet.

“I still love Graysen” Ah, that would do it.

“I believe he does too, in his own way” She doesn’t look at me, but I can tell her attention’s on me. “Fae and human relations always end in heartbreak, one way or another. While Fae remain young and fair for eternity, humans wither and age. I think Graysen knew this would be your fate, and decided to spare you the heartache of watching him grow old while you do not, and spare himself from the guilt of knowing he’d be leaving you behind once his time comes” I take a deep breath. “I have seen it many times on Cretea, and done all in my power to not grow attached to humans for that reason. Have seen how it breaks Fae to watch their loved ones die over and over again”

“It will still hurt” She looks to me. “It already does” I offer her a soft smile.

“The pain of loss never fades, not truly” I lay my hand on her shoulder. “But you learn to live despite it, find reasons to carry on… I may not have been the best at that myself, but… If you take it day by day, you’re already on the right track, but you… You’re already planning gardens for the spring, contemplating what to do this winter. You’re living despite that pain, and that is good” A meek smile slips onto her lips, but it soon fades.

“Feyre… Feyre thinks I should give Lucien a… Chance” I let my hand return to my lap.

“And what do you think?” She seems at a loss for words for a moment.

“I… I don’t know him”

“And you never will unless you let yourself” Her face tightens a fraction. “I understand it’s strange, that it feels like you’ve been robbed of a choice, but bond or not, whether you feel anything for him is wholly up to you. The bond does not guarantee emotions, and honestly, I think those who rush into a mating bond often find themselves miserable for that exact reason. They let the bond be all that binds them, be everything they are to one another”

“Not like you and Azriel, you two… Love each other” I nod calmly.

“I was falling some time before the bond snapped into place, but… The fact that we’ve waited and taken things slow has been a good thing, allowed us to make that emotional connection alongside the bond” I look down at the shadow curled around my wrist, a little faded in the light of day, but there. “I almost didn’t let us have that, almost let myself be content to never speak to him again because of his initial reaction to the bond… I don’t want to push you into anything, but I _do_ think you should get to know him, once you’re ready, if only as a friend” Her silence is long and drawn out, and I let it drag for however long she wishes.

“He was there, when I was Made… He was a part of it, he had a hand in hurting Feyre” Right.

“I may not know every detail of that event, but… As far as I know, that Priestess went behind both her High Lord and Lucien’s back when she took you, the males had no physical part in it. And knowing Tamlin, his… controlling tendencies… I wouldn’t be surprised if Lucien was a victim of it as well, though not in the same way as Feyre. It doesn’t justify his inaction, but in the end, he was as trapped as she was” Again, her silence is deep, vast.

“What if you didn’t love Azriel?”

“That… There are those who… How do I put this… Some mates do not love each other, but are still close friends, and they… It’s rare, but some engage in a platonic kind of mating, where they live separate but do what mates do when they can’t help themselves, but it’s not an emotionally romantic relationship, just physical. Had I not loved Azriel, I think… I’d been fine with something like that, content to just know I have him”

“But you love him, and you’ll mate… Have you figured out when yet?” I realize she’s effectively shifted the subject from herself to me, like a perfect courtier evading personal questions.

I should be ashamed she’s played me like this, but hopefully my words have still been somewhat useful to her.

“I haven’t, but I have ideas… We’ll see” knowing the shadows have ears, I don’t dare utter such plans, even though I’m aware I’ve let some of my considerations pass my lips. However, his shadows have been noticeably secretive about things lately, at least when it comes to my scheming. I wonder if that’s because Azriel, deep down, likes the thought of being surprised, and his shadows make sure he remains unaware for that reason.

I won’t put that theory to test though, not right now.


End file.
